From the Diary of Hermione Granger: Year 5
by Jobey
Summary: DISCONTINUED: Apologies aplenty, but really, you have (or will have) the actual canon now anyway. Epilogue added so as to resolve plotpoints and not leave darling readers in suspense.
1. Lazy Summer Days

*** It seems all too much. A nice summer swirls out of control, and not just because a certain Weasley keeps breaking into Hermione Granger's thoughts. It's everything... the danger... the worry about John and his existence... the disapperance of newfound ally Alyn... the questions on singer Nicole Skylark... the question: _When will the Dark Lord strike_? And how? Sirius Black and Remus Lupin try to announce that it's the wizard Carquel's stronghold that is the one thing Voldemort would value next to the life of Harry Potter. The latter should know; he spent a year there. "Carquel's several centuries ahead of his time... we'd be crushed," Lupin writes. But no one really wants to listen. Worse, what if the Dark Lord strikes a bit closer to Hogwarts School after a failed attempt on Carquel?   
  
*Disclaimer: The HP world is property of the genius J.K. Rowling. I make no money off this and don't intend to by any stretch of the imigination.   
**  


  
  
  
Extracts From the Diary of Hermione Granger: Year Five  
  
July  
  
July 11th  
  
Dear Diary -  
  
Another wonderful day of doing absolutely nothing in Bulgaria! I can't believe my visit is nearly half-over, and when this is over I have to go and be the Granger receptionist to "pay" for the vacation - come on! Oh, well, I suppose they're right - they are my parents, and I'm lucky they even let me come, after all. Remember how long it took me to convince them?  
  
There really isn't too much to describe anymore except for what I did, since I've already written about nearly everything I've seen. It's quite stormy today anyway, so Viktor and I stayed near the farm. I still think it's funny that the world's most famous Quidditch player lives in a farmhouse, even if the Krums don't farm - but it's sweet, too; I'd hate him if he weren't down-to-earth.   
  
Although, I don't think I can ever really like Mrs. Krum. She has only just gotten over her habit of staring askance at me, and I still feel like dying of embarrassment whenever I remember her muttering: "Of all the girls I expected Viktor to bring home…" So humiliating… when I compare her to Mrs. Weasley, it's incredible.  
  
Of course, I might just be irritable from the Polygut Potion. I need it to conserve in Bulgarian - even I can't learn a language that quickly - but it gives me headaches and I don't sleep well. Compared to the average, though, this is mild, so I shouldn't complain, and it's wearing off - or I'm getting used to it; I'm not sure which.  
  
I did enjoy spending "nothing" time with Viktor, though. The farmhouse was so big we could stay out of Mrs. Krum's way.  
  
It's amazing how Viktor and I can talk about anything - well, actually, we never mention Quidditch, except that I promised I would try flying once the rain let up, just to make him happy, I suppose, as I hate Flying Classes.  
  
Anyway, there were other things to talk about. I got my Daily Prophet today and we read some of it together. Does that sound straight-laced, or have I been listening to Ron and Parvati and Lavender too long or too late? It doesn't matter. It's very interesting. Viktor is very clever and very opinionated, and it's fun discussing current events with him. The amazing part is, we almost always agree! The Daily Prophet, new and improved and sans Rita Skeeter, is wonderful to read with Viktor.  
  
(Of course, I am a little worried she's going to get revenge. She's a full-fledged witch and clever enough to become an Animagus - but then, what exactly can she do? Become my own personal bedbug?)  
  
For example, today the Prophet was picking apart the Ministry's actions on Hibilitians. Hibilitians are people with magic, but mostly in places that aren't fully - well, the Ministry uses the word "civilized", you know, still living like in the old days and with the old ways. Well, they are witches and wizards but they aren't trained, because even if they got letters to magical schools they didn't go.   
  
The Ministry wants to uproot them and make sure they're educated and trained, while the Hibilitians want to stay the way they are - and you really can't blame them! Some of those awful Ministry officials went so far as to call them "savages", which is awful!   
  
So there was an article in the paper today debating that and interviewing officials and all. And Viktor and I both agreed that the Ministry had enough lives to ruin without dragging in the Hibilitians. He also said that he wouldn't push the Hibilitians if he were in charge -  
  
"They haff very strong magical powers, much unlike ours."  
  
I suppose developing your own magic for centuries can do that.  
  
Of course, the Ministry can't put too much effort into the Hibilitians - they've got You-Know-Who to worry about. I can't believe they're trying to cover this up! Four Muggles were killed in Kent yesterday - and there was a Dark Mark above them, and the Ministry is trying to tell us that it was a killing by Muggles, not You-Know-Who! Can you believe? It's disgusting. I'm so glad Viktor accepts the fact You-Know-Who is back. Mr. Krum firmly does; Mrs. Krum doesn't speak when the subject comes up - she just purses her lips. I know she's one of the ones refusing to believe it.   
  
Oh, my goodness. It was so awful today when she huffed that the killing was probably Sirius Black. Sirius didn't do that - but of course, I can't say that or try to convince them. Even Viktor thinks Sirius is a mad murderer. I'm so confused. I'm trying to avoid the subject. Oh, I hope Sirius is all right. I shudder to think of how Harry would react if anything happened to Sirius - Harry spends half his time worrying about him anyway; he really cares about him. And I as care about Harry that means I care about Sirius as well. It seems that ever since the end of our third year you can't have one without the other - both are so connected; it's almost frightening and certainly rather odd.  
  
But I'm rather scared for Mum and Dad. They're Muggles, and I'm a witch, which probably doesn't bode too well with the Death Eaters. I know I've said it a million times, so now I refuse to think of saying…  
  
Hmm… let's change the subject… I got a letter from Ron today. He's still being a baby, trying not to mention Viktor or Bulgaria but then throwing in these little slighting hints. I'm sorry; I cannot like Ronald Weasley like Viktor Krum. Ron and I spend half our time angry at each other, and Ron never understands me - especially like Viktor. Anyway, I guess I can cut Ron some slack. His family is very busy right now and therefore somewhat strained. Ron hasn't heard from Harry. Harry hasn't answered my letter, either. Oh, I do hope this isn't one of those summers Harry can't write us!  
  
Viktor just zoomed by the window, scaring poor Crookshanks to death! Even though it's raining, he still likes to train everyday - Viktor, that is, not Crookshanks! He also meets up with the Bulgarian team once a week. He said he'd be happy to make arrangements for me to come - if I would really want to! Isn't that kind? He's so thoughtful, I swear.  
  
I really should finish that Herbology essay before I go to bed tonight. Pity, though, that this wasn't about bogdolearys. There's so many in Bulgaria, I think they even originated here - but no. Instead I get Hoffergluts. Ew. Not that bogdolearys are a piece of cake, mind you!  
  
Oh! The clouds just cleared up and there's a beautiful sunset and Viktor is motioning me outside to come and watch - I'll write tomorrow!  
  
  
  
  
July 14  
  
Dear Diary -  
  
Well, the world is finally drying out. You can actually walk outside without wading in mud.  
  
Viktor and I went to town today. There was an amazing art exhibit - all Muggle, but it really was incredible. I'm glad I didn't miss it. It wasn't a bunch of big-name artists - this was a show of the unknowns, and in my personal opinion that just made it better. (Viktor agrees.) One man had a full table of little figurines for sale - made of wood, gold, silver, glass, jade, diamond, and just about every gem you can imagine! They were so small and so realistic; I just had to get one from him. It was hard to pick, but I chose a crystal cat, all curled up, that looks like Crookshanks, only the crystal cat's face is a bit more common. The sweet thing? Viktor bought it for me as an early birthday present, saying regretfully he wouldn't see me in September. Isn't that nice?  
  
He waited while the man and I talked a while; I asked a million questions. And just as we left the man stopped me and brought out a little wooden box - exquisitely carved - full of more figures and told me to chose one. Of course, I said no, thank you, but he insisted, saying it was a pleasure to find someone so young who so thoroughly understood his work. I said all the polite things but in the end I chose one - it's amazing. It's a tree, and it's smaller than my finger, but it's so detailed - the crevasses in the trunk, the intertwining branches, the little leaves, the roots buried in the ground around the tree - incredible! What I really like is that it's Muggle-made, not made by magic. If it was made by magic it wouldn't be a little miracle, it would just be… a cheap magic trick. Awful to say when I'm a witch, but true! I thought it was made of gold, but right now it looks silver. It must be one of those metals that change color depending on the lighting.  
  
But the figures are so perfect - I had to hide the cat; Crookshanks was jealous! Can you believe? Oh, and I think Viktor is mildly allergic to cats. Pity. I'm trying to keep him and Crookshanks apart, but Crookshanks sleeps with me so I'm all cat-ish. I'm going to start showering in the morning instead of before bed, I think.  
  
I'm going to finish my essay for the Study of Ancient Runes tonight. There were a few things I've learned here from some of the old warlocks I can include now to finish it off nicely.  
  
Another thing - no, I didn't spend the day in there, but on the way back we stopped by the library to drop off a few books of Viktor's. I found that you can do research on the records of people, and there are a few I want to check out, so I'm going to do that within a few days.  
  
Oh, and Note To Self: Find a birthday present for Harry soon! It's hard to think of what he'd want here. Probably to be here instead of with his aunt and uncle, but I'll have to find the next best thing. I want to get Ron something, too - no, not a peace token. A friendship token… or is that the same thing now? No, he's not angry with me… much.  
  
July 15  
  
Want to fill in the blanks? "Rain", "storm", "talk with Viktor", "play around", "read", "homework", "research tomorrow".  
  
July 16  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
No more worrying about Harry's birthday present - I've got the greatest, most fantastic idea! But I have to back up a bit and write down the research.  
  
First, this morning I went to the library after Viktor started his daily drills. The man in charge was suspicious of everybody - especially a foreign teenager in the library during summer holiday. Oh, well. I got what I needed eventually.  
  
First I checked up on Barty Crouch, Jr. It seems to me that there's some loose end from last year, something everyone - including Dumbledore - forgot, and I hoped to find it. But I didn't. I didn't learn anything new about him except that he went to Hogwarts and was in Slytherin - which probably didn't go over too well with his father, I'm betting. He tried out for the English National Quidditch team - and didn't make it, by the way. Shortly afterward he settled for some job in Hogsmeade, and I think it was around that time he started working for You-Know-Who. Can you believe his records didn't mention his work for You-Know-Who, even though the Ministry can magically update them? They're doing their best to be blind, I suppose.  
  
Igor Karaoff was so much more interesting, although I didn't find anything of real use. He graduated from Hogwarts in 1964 - a Slytherin, naturally, and came from a family even bigger than the Weasleys - he was the sixth of fourteen children. His eldest sister, it seems, was Darmintry's right-hand agent. Karaoff was convicted of Death Eater activity in 1981, and, like Harry said, he gave the Ministry a few names and only served a few months in Azkaban. Then he continued teaching at Durmstrang and was made Headmaster in 1987.  
  
Phew.  
  
I'm going to ask Viktor about him some, later, but anyway I just want to move on to my Wonderful Idea! So to make this nice and short I next looked up Severus Snape. (And no, my idea was not to serve Snape on a platter to Harry, although I don't think Harry would mind all that much…) But just as I read: "Graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1978…" and my memory sparked. Snape had been in the same year as Harry's father.  
  
I was already worried about Harry because I got a letter from him today, and it's so unlike him -  
  
_Dear Hermione,  
  
I am doing fine. Prof. Dumbledore says it's safest for me here, and the Dursleys agree. So I'm not going to the Weasleys this summer.  
  
I hope you are having a good time in Bulgaria with Viktor. Be sure to tell me all about it.  
  
Sincerely,   
  
Harry  
_  
  
That was so strange. Why?  
  
1)"I am fine" - first sentence. That tells me right there that there's a good chance he isn't fine.  
  
2)"Prof. Dumbledore" - I don't see why he bothered to add the "Prof." at all.   
  
3)"And the Dursleys agree" - since when are the Dursleys concerned about his safety? Now, is Harry just putting up a brave front so I don't pity him or what?  
  
4) "Sincerely" - since when does Harry sign his letters "sincerely"? Never, in my memory.  
  
5)I know he isn't a terrific letter writer, but honestly, he usually can do better than this!   
  
6)Why does it seem like he wrote little and said completely nothing?  
  
7)Why didn't he ask for news of the wizarding world? I told him I'd tell him anything he wanted to know and even send him copies of the Daily Prophet - if he could stomach them.  
  
  
I think that the Dursleys are monitoring his post or else he's with Sirius and even I can't know about it.   
  
But it's not as if Sirius is able to do that, right? He's on the run from dementors and he's running errands for Dumbledore.   
  
In any case, thinking of Harry I wistfully figured that there were plenty in the Potters' year(s) that had great memories Harry would probably die to know. With this is mind, I started on my next subject - Mundungus Fletcher. (I figured if Sirius had to go find him and Arabella Figg and Lupin I should know some about them - like I said, if anything happened to Sirius, Harry would…)  
  
Oh, and Snape, by the way, not much that we hadn't found out, really. Except that during You-Know-Who's reign he was Death Eatering, spying, and working at Florean Fortucue's. Amazing, what you can find out.   
  
Anyway, Fletcher had been a Gryffindor in James Potter's year. And that's when the sparks went of fin my head and started burning.  
  
Arabella Figg? All I saw was that she read: "Graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1978" and I nearly threw down the records. Sparks were really flying now when I thought of all these people who had known the Potters.  
  
So I sort of stared off, thinking of Harry's parents and the Marauders and how Harry wants more than anything to know more about his parents and how it was a pity he couldn't have that for his birthday and then WHAM!!  
  
Why not record some of those Potter memories for him? For Harry's birthday?  
I carefully considered this for a moment, because it seemed impossible… and then I stared down at my list of names, and guess whose name jumped out at me? A former Marauder, not a wanted murderer, one of my old teachers, and who actually knew about my secret writing? I practically ran - no, flew - to the Krums, composing my letter the whole way there, and then writing Professor Lupin.  
  
I love those brain explosions. I'm really sure he'll do it - I mean, come to think of it, it might be sort of painful for him to remember, but I know he cares about Harry enough to try and do this little thing. I pretty sure, anyway, and if not I'll just have to owl Sirius, dementors and busy or no. (Actually, I think the reason I really don't want to ask him is because it would require revealing my writing - again. And he's Harry's godfather, Harry would find out, and then Ron in an instant, and then the Weasleys, and then the school… ugh.)  
  
But isn't that just the greatest of ideas? Harry is going to love it. (And thank goodness the Krums have extra owls!)   
  
Well, Pig is pecking at my window, so I'll have to go read Ron's letter. There's also this morning's Daily Prophet to read. Er… I'm not sure I want to dampen my mood with Sirius Black reports and stupid articles that are packs of lies… but oh, well. It had this big front-page thing I'm afraid to read, really. Oh, well. Here goes! Goodnight!  
  
July 16 - Later  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
I am so angry I can't see straight! I hate stupid Cornelius Fudge and his stupid pride and prejudice! He is such a biased, self-satisfied, cruel pig!  
  
You just will not believe him. Remember after the third task when he and Dumbledore got into that row? And one of Dumbledore's suggestions was to send envoys to the giants, and Fudge clearly thought he was out of his mind? Well, Fudge has still been angry with Dumbledore since then, and things got no better when a Prophet reporter found that Dumbledore had been sending agents to make treaties with the giants. Fudge called the actions stupid, pointless, defiance to the Ministry…  
  
Now, when a Dark Witch or Wizard is in power, the Ministry calls a Dark Crisis or Calamity. Of course, it took them until You-Know-Who's sixth year of power to declare a Dark Crisis last time, so they're not exactly prompt. But during either of those states there are specific rules for "non-humans who pose as members of society". During Dark Crisises they have to do additional check-ins and must wear these Identification Pins in all public areas. During Dark Calamities, they must turn in their wands and must follow these Communication Guidelines if they want to speak or write to humans. (Dark Calamities are rare - even during You-Know-Who's last reign, they didn't declare one until a few weeks before his downfall, thank goodness.)  
  
Fudge, of course, did not call a Dark Crisis. But he did say "because of the dangers of a mad and still-at-large Sirius Black, as well as other strange happenings, as a precaution, just a precaution, there's nothing to worry about…" that the Ministry will be enforcing "the Guidelines for Non-Humans in Times of a Dark Calamity", which goes for "anyone with giant blood" - it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he is just paying Dumbledore back - Fudge is so prejudicial, remember when he wanted to blame the attack on Crouch on Madam Maxime just because she's half-giant?   
  
This is so unfair; I cannot even see straight and my hands are shaking. Fudge is using actual living beings to continue his petty little grudge. I hate him; I really do. Not to mention the fact this came at a horrible time in the S.P.E.W. campaign, I keep thinking of poor Hagrid. Last year he locked himself up just because of Skeeter's article, and now he won't be able to go anywhere without everyone knowing. Because of the Communication Guidelines, he might not even be able to teach this year.   
  
And it's all because of Fudge's pettiness.  
  
I get more and more confused. I'm still so used to thinking that the people in charge of things are good and righteous and will do everything perfectly - but they don't. At the very least, I always thought they would put others before themselves and be compassionate, but over the years what I've been seeing just doesn't support that theory. How do these people ever get in charge, anyway?  
  
I'm exhausted… it's late… my eyelids are drooping… I'm angry… I can't see straight… I'm confused… my head hurts… and my hand hurts from all this writing today… but I want to write Ron about this… and talk to Viktor… but I can't talk right now, and it's nighttime, he's asleep… so I'll just write Ron quickly… and then go to bed… yes, I like that idea…  
  
  
July 17  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Oh, I had a fantastic day! Viktor had to go to his Quidditch practice and arranged for me to come, like he said. We Portkeyed there this morning, to a stadium a lot smaller than the one at the World Cup. It's very rare that a guest like me gets to come, but I suppose Viktor carries some weight. I had to stay out of the way, but I knew that. It's not like I knew what to do, anyway.  
  
There were several officials and workers there. Some were very coldly civil to me, but a few were polite, and one worker was very pleasant. His name was Alyn; he's about a year older than Viktor, with dark Bulgarian features but bright hazel eyes, a round-ish face, and a pleasantly talkative (Bulgarian, of course) tongue. He wasn't bothersome though, just very nice and mannerly and kept me amused during the long seven-hour practice.  
  
These seven Bulgarian players were very serious. The lineup hasn't changed since the World Cup, and Alyn whispered that was quite some time, for this team. They were just… intense. The more lighthearted Viktor I had come to know had vanished into the surly player I had seen last year.  
  
Christian Ivanova was the captain, and he ran them like an army sergeant, I swear - you would think this was life and death, not a sport created for enjoyment! Unpronounceable-First-Name Dimitrov, a Chaser, continually challenged Ivanova's authority, to the point I wanted to swat at him a bit. Meanwhile, the Beaters were highly temperamental as well. They were just fiercely hungry to win, at any cost - even their lives, it seemed. And nearly everyone was shouting at Dominium Leviski, although neither Alyn or I could see for the life of us what he was doing wrong, and Alyn is pretty knowledgeable about Quidditch.   
  
Viktor, I noticed, didn't get involved in this mess. He just did what he had to do, to the point he wasn't quite a team player. (But even I can see he was the best, although the team is quite good.)  
  
Growing tired of the endless drills and strategies, I looked around. As I said, the stadium was smaller; but Alyn informed me that this wasn't the official Bulgarian stadium - it was just for practice, because everyone knew where the other one was. This one was hidden, Unplotable, and impossible to reach except by Portkey, unless you were a lucky wanderer. Even he didn't know where it was, it was so highly hidden.  
  
"Whatever for?" I asked in surprised Bulgarian.  
  
"Foreign spies, trying to find our secrets and strategies," Alyn said as if that should be obvious. I nearly laughed in his face, it sounded like a Hogwarts House rivalry - so ridiculous, quite childish.   
  
Viktor seemed only slightly tired after the grueling seven-hour match, but not out of breath or sore or anything. He really is fit. I agreed to borrow Zograf's broom so he could give me a few flying tips. (Alyn seemed a little jealous and watched with rapt attention.)  
  
Even I could tell that Firebolt left the school's Shooting Stars far, far behind, and for once flying was almost enjoyable and I certainly felt more confident after he was done with the little tutorial. We joked all the while about how hopeless I was, but he said I really did show potential and was a good learner.   
  
Afterwards we had to gather up but there was still fifteen minutes before the Portkey activated. I said goodbye to Alyn and promised to keep in touch - he really is quite nice - and Viktor and I waited with Alexandrian Zograf, the Keeper. He was so serious during practice I seriously considered whether or not he could even smile. He was slightly subdued but actually friendly and even witty as we talked. He even offered an autograph, which I politely refused. (Don't tell Harry and Ron, else I'm dead.)   
  
I wondered, though… I think… know… that Harry seems to want to play professional Quidditch. I'd be happy… thrilled… for him if he could… I just hope he doesn't get all moody and surly like Viktor and Zograf if he does. That would be dreadful. Please, don't let him… I won't let him, even if I have to owl him all of Zonko's!  
  
Anyway, Viktor and I had a nice evening after dinner, taking a walk in the woods. We weren't as serious as usual. In fact, we were laughing more than we talked.  
  
And it felt great.  
  
(I just looked in the mirror. I am not blushing. I reread the last four sentences and looked again. I'm still not blushing. My eyes are sparkling; my face is not red. I must be hopeless. Crookshanks has just purred his agreement.)  
  
  
July 18  
  
  
I am so miserable.  
  
When will I ever learn to control myself?  
  
Everything Draco Malfoy has ever said about my big mouth is completely true.  
  
I think I could curl up and die.  
  
Upon reflection and rereading, I do not even sound like Hermione Granger.  
  
Good.  
  
That's good.  
  
She needs to learn some self-control.  
  
Why do I always have to be so opinionated?  
  
It always gets me into fights with my best friends.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Hermione Opens Her Mouth

***Note: Sorry, but my italics are erased. So you can imagine where the italics are, thanks. :-)  
  
*To all who stayed on so far... you're darlings! :-)**  


  
July 19  
  
Dear Diary,  
Well, all right. Yesterday's entry sounds great for some story of mine, but otherwise it really doesn't record what happened very well. Here's what happened yesterday morning:  
  
Now, I didn't want to bring up "Section A Subtitle B", as those non-human guidelines are known, on Saturday because Viktor had practice to worry about and it was such a lovely day I didn't want to ruin it by getting worked up.  
  
But when I opened the Prophet yesterday… I waited until after breakfast, luckily, because if this had happened in front of Mrs. Krum! … and an article outlining the Non-Human Guidelines of Communication During A Dark Calamity greeted me, and I snapped, I just exploded with anger, like the Weasley twins had set off firecrackers inside me. All I could think of was innocent people like Hagrid, Lupin, and - I feel so guilty; first time I thought of her in a while - Anna having to follow those unfair, disgusting, and frankly degrading laws, and, well…  
  
It wasn't pretty, I assure you.  
  
"Look at this," I screeched, shoving the paper to Viktor.  
  
He glanced down, skimmed it, and the raised his eyes to me. "Yes?"  
  
"Did you see that?" I demanded furiously, rummaging and then pulling the article from Friday out and slamming that by him as well.  
  
"Yes," Viktor answered calmly. "I had seen those before."  
  
He was so calm. I stared at him in disbelief, and then voice my opinion - quite calmly, myself, in a cold and dangerous rage that translated into calmness - for the moment.  
  
That's right where I should I have stopped. I had voiced my opinion, and since forcing it on Viktor would have done no good, I should have just dropped it. Instead, I looked very hardly at him and said: "You agree, right?"  
  
I refused to let him break eye contact but he squirmed slightly, looking as nervous as he had the day he managed to ask me to the Yule Ball.  
  
He took a deep breath and said no.  
  
My voice caught; I couldn't speak. I was so passionate about this, and now for the first time Viktor didn't agree with me. I felt as if the world had been dropped from under me. It was brain numbing.  
  
"Why?" was all I managed to inquire.  
  
He thought a moment before stating his careful words. It was safest for all involved, he said.   
  
I snapped again. I threw my hands in the air forcefully. Oh, I spat, the safety of all of us is improved because Hagrid can't go to Hogsmeade without a half-giant Identification Pin. Right. Not to mention the fact he is working for Albus Dumbledore, and against the Dark Side.  
  
He replied quite calmly that it was safest for everyone to be able to know what he was.  
  
My mind screamed: "What he is?" and "Oh, Rita Skeeter didn't do that thoroughly enough?" I changed my tactic and said that it would be harder for Hagrid to do certain things for Dumbledore if he had to turn in his wand. (Not that he's taken it out of the umbrella even after his name was cleared; but now everyone knows.)   
  
Viktor said that then Hagrid couldn't hurt anyone with it.  
  
"HARM ANYONE WITH IT?!" I shrieked. Hagrid - intentionally hurt anyone with magic? Absurd!!  
  
"He's not human. Who knows what he might do. He's different," said Viktor quietly.  
  
I wanted to say that Hagrid was more "human" than many, many "true" humans I had ever met, and in retrospect it probably would have been better to just say that. However, I snapped yet again and started … well… blabbing, for lack of a better word. Ranting, perhaps. About Rebeus Hagrid, his intense loyalty to Dumbledore, his childlike innocence on some matters, his great wisdom in others, his very generous, well-meaning heart, and his love of any and every animal. About Remus Lupin, the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher we had ever had, unable to continue teaching because of a few prejudicial bigots and his fear of injecting the students with the same curse that had exiled him even though he was perfectly nice. About Anna Maynard, a girl younger than myself and living in terror, knowing that if she received one more bite from the thing she feared most she would turn into that thing, and instead of being helped, being exiled to a place she was at even greater risk. About the house-elves, innocent little slaves like Winky, who had been told so many times that only those she served, not herself, mattered that she believed it and nearly destroyed herself because of it. I went on with this ranting little monologue for about five solid minutes, ending with: "And what was so wrong with Madame Maxime?" before I ran out of breath and was forced to stop.  
  
Viktor just looked at me for a moment before sighing and saying we simply had different views on the subject and that's that. He then went on to say that a childhood as a Muggle and a witch in sheltered England and even more sheltered Hogwarts meant that I could never understand the threat non-humans posed.  
  
I snapped again and shouted a few things I'll never forgive myself for and then stormed up to the guest bedroom.  
  
And we haven't been on friendly terms since. It's dreadful. Viktor, being the gentleman he is, hasn't been rude at all - he quite politely says good morning and good night and inquires if I need anything at all - but he's just civil, not friendly a mite, and avoids me the rest of the time. Mrs. Krum glares at me constantly and even Mr. Krum is somewhat strained towards me.  
  
I'm so confused. Should I say I'm sorry? I am, a bit - not for my opinion but for how I expressed it. But I don't know how to say it, and even if I apologized Viktor might be too proud to. He really does have a prideful streak. And I keep remembering the cold look in his eyes when he was speaking of dangerous non-humans. How can I be a friend with someone like that? I just can't.  
  
I'm going to go do my Transfiguration homework, even though I promised to enjoy myself in Bulgaria and only do two assignments and save the rest for August. Oooo… just thinking of home makes me homesick! I think I'll do some more of Days of the Fiddle Girl instead. No, that's too cheerful. I suppose Transfiguration, then.  
  
  
July 19, evening  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
I feel so bad now for comparing Ron to Viktor. The truth was that I didn't want to be "the girlfriend" to either of them and ending up shunning Ron. I think I see that now. But I kept on putting down Ron even here in my diary, and look at this letter I just got from him -  
  
_Dear Hermione,  
  
I'm glad to hear you're having a good time. Going to a National Quidditch Team practice - man, I'm jealous. Sounds wicked cool.  
  
I finally got a letter from Harry. It doesn't sound too good. It doesn't even sound like Harry. I hope his aunt and uncle aren't being bigger gits than normal. Their sister might just get blown up.  
  
Whoa, Hermione. Calm down, just a bit. I saw that article too and the first thing I thought of was oh, boy, Hermione is not going to like this - and I agree with you, really. I'm not too thrilled about it, thinking of Hagrid. Dad is disgusted about it and if it makes you feel better he did everything he could to try and convince the Department Too-Long-To-Name to not pass Section A Subtitle B, but he has to be careful because he's "meddling" in a lot.  
  
Just cool off a bit, okay? I know you want to do something, but making voodoo dolls of Fudge or tearing up the Krums' guest room won't help, really. Why not write a letter to the Daily Prophet? It won't really change the law but if you write it, who knows? You're pretty convincing - (cough, cough) - I know all too well.  
  
Everything's pretty much okay over here, only Dad and Percy are working non-stop - actually, I haven't seen Percy in about two days. (Pity, eh?) His faith in the Ministry is really shaken after the Crouch deal, which is actually pretty good, because he's not protesting about Dad's "meddling". He finally learned the Ministry people aren't gods.  
  
Ginny, the twins, and Mum and Dad all say hello and are hoping you're having a good time. Ginny wants a "full report". I'll see you later - we will try to meet in Diagon Alley, right?  
  
-- Ron_  
  
Wasn't that a good letter? I swear, Ron's actually beginning to write thoughtful letters! Amazing - and I really appreciate it, it's so nice, even if I'm more confused than ever. And more homesick than ever. I really am homesick. I want to be home, in a house where I am loved and near people I know and a place I don't feel awkward and actual English conversation and quicker replies from Ron and Ginny and Harry.  
  
But Ron had a really good idea! I'm going to get a good night's sleep and start that letter pronto! I'm so glad he suggested this!  
  
  
July 20  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Depressed. The letter is going simply awful. Viktor and I aren't talking. Worked on History of Magic and another chapter of Fiddle Girl. Lupin hasn't replied yet and I'm getting antsy because Harry's birthday is in just a bit over ten days and I don't have any material at all yet. I think I might go shopping this evening to see if I can buy him anything in town…  
  
  
July 21  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Viktor went out to practice this morning and Mr. Krum had gone to work so I had to eat breakfast alone with Mrs. Krum, and she was absolute torture. She kept glaring and dropping snide remarks about how I'm so selfish, she knew I wasn't right for Viktor, I'm too young and far too immature, and I don't know what I'm talking about. I didn't know whether to lash out at her or cry, so I settled on not replying, causing her to say I had some horrible manners I probably picked up from savage giants at Hogwarts.  
  
I was too depressed to be angry. The letter just doesn't want to be written. Speaking of letters, no, I haven't heard from Lupin and definitely no, I did not tell Mrs. Krum I sent one of her owls to a werewolf. It's nowhere near the full moon and what she doesn't know can't hurt her!  
  
I also went shopping for Harry. Well, I found a cute little jewelry/accessory case for Ginny, sturdy and wooden and lined with glint gold and realistic gemstones. She saw one in Diagon Alley once and really liked it. I didn't find anything for Ron and ended up buying Harry a schoolbag. I really hope I can use the receipt!  
  
  
July 23  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
Nothing new, except I've been staring upward at the sky so much my neck hurts, as if scanning the sky will hurry up a certain owl I'm in desperate need of.  
  
It occurred to me that perhaps Lupin would think I'm crazy and just not reply. For one thing, he was my teacher more than a year ago, and while I thought of him every so often I'm sure he doesn't remember me. You know those little voices in your head that tell you you've overstepped the rules of polite society? Well, I've got them and they're killing me with some awful embarrassing situations my letter might end up causing, even while I know none of them will happen. Oh, well. I just thought that he might care about Harry enough to do it. Or perhaps the memories were just too painful.  
  
With that last thought in mind, how on earth could I owl Sirius with the same request? I me-  
  
Hold on a moment.  
  
I'm taking a deep breath.  
  
Okay, I'll admit it. I, Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, Hogwart's House of the Brave, am afraid to owl Sirius because it means revealing my secrets writings to yet another person.  
  
Figures.  
  
But, really. Sirius is Harry's godfather, and if Sirius knew who knows but Harry will find out from him. And then Ron will know the next instant, and then the Weasleys, and from there the whole school. I just can't stand that thought. It was bad enough I turned in Michelle's Quest instead of my vampire essay in my third year. That's a tribute to how crazy I was that year. But, then, it could have been worse. What if I had handed it to Snape? He sure wouldn't have talked to me after class. He would have read it to all the Gryffindors and Slytherins during our double Potions, and I would have just died. I don't know which would be worse - having Harry and Ron, Parvati and Lavender, or Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson know about my writing.  
  
Oh, how do I know Snape would have read it out loud to us? I had a nightmare in which that happened last night - seriously. I suppose I should have remembered it's two years later during the dream, but I was terrified.   
  
"Now, here's what Miss Granger has to say about Confusing Concoctions," my horrified self watched Snape's sneering mouth ejaculate.  
  
" 'Michelle's Quest - Chapter Six -Michelle opened her eyes slowly, the daylight hurting her for a moment before she adjusted to the sun. Someone was calling her name from a long way off… Vivian? She thought, confused…'."  
  
Now, you can't tell me that wasn't scary. Although, since it doesn't seem like I'll be able to write Harry's book, the idea of a kid whose writing is revealed in such a way and the after-effects actually sounds like a good storyline…  
  
Oh, I can't believe I had been considering sharing my writing with Viktor…  
  
  
July 24  
  
  
YES!!  
  
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!! Viktor and I made up!  
  
Okay, so here's what happened. Actually, I feel sort of guilty for being so happy, considering what happened this morning, since three Muggles in Kent had been killed - a wife, husband, and mother-in-law, and the couple were doctors. It was all over the Prophet and the Krums' papers.   
  
I was miserable during breakfast - meals with the Krums are awful and strained lately, and since Mrs. Krum doesn't believe You-Know-Who is back she kept going on about how Sirius Black must have done it, which made my blood boil. I excused myself as soon as possible.   
  
I was at the front door when Viktor appeared beside me. "Vare are you going, Hermioneh?" (We've made great strides in the pronunciation of my name, by the way. It's just the ending he can't quite nail. But remember, I'm not going to bother to write out his accent.)  
  
"Out for a walk," was all I managed, my voice sounding odd and forced. Talking to him had once been so natural.  
  
He nodded, his eyes fixed on a point beyond me. "Would you mind if I accompanied you?"  
  
Vould I mind? Either we were going to completely make up or break up as far as I could see, and both sounded quite appealing to me. I nodded and said, "Yes, please." I don't know where the words came from; they just came out like a plead, almost.  
  
We walked for a few minutes in an awkward silence, until we were out of earshot and nearly out of eyeshot from Mrs. Krum.  
  
Then he turned to me and said quietly (in English, of course, he's so polite he'll speak my native language even with the Polygut Potion), "My father and I know that those murders weren't just the random work of Black. We know the Dark Lord is back."  
  
Of course, Viktor thinks Black is a Death Eater, but I knew he meant that this wasn't just the work of a deranged Death Eater. This was… him.  
  
He sighed and suddenly took my hand and looked me straight in the eye. "I am old enough to recall, a bit, the Dark Lord's first reign. It was terrifying… but what I remember most was… the distrust."  
  
He sighed again. "We both know the truth of this. I do not want you to leave me to face the Dark Lord's reign in your country, which is in most danger, without out friendship."  
  
He paused a moment; I didn't trust myself to say anything. After all, look where it got me last time I talked without thinking. But Viktor spoke first:  
  
"I was thinking about what you said Sunday."  
  
I breath caught and my excitement must have shown because he shook his head slowly and sadly. "I'm sorry. I don't take back my opinion that the guidelines are for the best. I hope they are passed here as well. But," he added quickly, "I do think I might have to reconsider my belief that all non-humans are dangerous. I think I agree with you about the prejudice. I can see how your friends might be, well… civilized. In many places, like Bulgaria, half-giants and werewolves and young girls at that much of a risk of becoming a vampire - they are little more than savages, but from what I have seen I can understand it might be different in England."  
  
I nodded. "Thanks. Really. Thanks. And I'm sorry. Really. For being a bit - forceful. It's just that Hagrid's done so much for me and…" I shook my head in self-disgust, "I just get so angry over prejudice. It's a real fault of mine."  
  
Then Viktor smiled and said not to say sorry, because the first time he had ever noticed me was when I was telling off some Slytherins for picking on Neville, and he had been so impressed that he started noticing other things about me -  
  
" - your cleverness and dedication to your studies and your loyalty and beautiful eyes -"  
  
"Viktor!" I protested, blushing heavily although I couldn't help feeling pleased enough to smile.  
  
Then - Viktor put his arm around me. And… don't tell my parents… I was against his chest and felt so comfortable and safe - and then he kissed me lightly on the head. And I didn't even think of pulling away. I liked it.  
  
And now I feel lightheaded and very strange.  
  
That evening we took a walk in town. Viktor had his arm around my waist during part of the walk, but these ten-or-eleven-year olds were snickering. We couldn't have cared less. And then we found a clearing were a group of young children were playing and flying and we stayed a while, helping and laughing and having a great time.  
  
And on the way back I told Viktor about Ron's idea to write to the Daily Prophet and how the letter was going horribly. He said that he was sure I could write it excellently now that we weren't so upset and then thoughtfully added he'd do the same to the Bulgarian paper. Of course, it won't be the same as mind because, remember, he approves of the guidelines, just not the treatment, but at least it's sure to get lots of attention, as he pointed out rather gloomily. Being Viktor Krum has advantages. Like Harry Potter, a famous name can be a double-edged sword, a gift and a curse. Viktor is using it as a gift for the moment.  
  
All in all, I feel wonderful, peaceful, and tired… Crookshanks and I are already in bed, and I think we're heading for dreamland…  
  
July 25  
  
  
Dear Diary -  
  
Just when I thought I couldn't get happier! This morning Kapolei, the Krums' owl, came back - and let me tell you, what Lupin sent back is more than worth the wait - this is incredible, I swear! He and Sirius both sent a whole lot of material for me to work with, and I've actually been rolling with laughter on the floor reading this stuff! I swear, Harry's dad basically had strange friends! And, come to think of it, aren't I using a lot of exclamation points? I'm just really excited. Harry is going to love this, if I can finish and send it in time - speaking of which, I'm going to write later, because there's a ton to do! 'Til later!  
  
  
July 25, evening  
  
  
Dear Diary,  
  
By careful dint of working non-stop, I've got a rough draft nearly completed and the real book will be easy, just a few charms I hope Viktor will work.  
  
Speaking of which, in the spirit of our renewed friendship and the fact I just had to share all this with someone, Viktor now knows about my writing. I think he's the first person I ever voluntarily told. I can't really hide this from my parents, Lupin, of course, pretty much figured out that Michelle wasn't being attacked by vampires, and Anna only suspected. I actually TOLD someone…  
  
And it felt nice, not hiding it.  
  
And he was really supportive of my book for Harry - which needs a better name than that - and had several ideas and did agree to help with the charms, but also added that the rules of underage wizardry are different here - so I can do magic, and all this time -!  
  
Anyway, Viktor really liked it as well. Of course, I didn't get too personal. I did say it was for Harry and the letters were from two of his father's old friends and the idea to collaborate it all together and all, but I didn't get much more into it than that. They pointedly referred to themselves as Padfoot and Moony the whole way through, which I take to mean no one should know about this and no one should know I've been in contact with Sirius Black. Of course, I didn't tell Viktor about Sirius. I said his name was Gary, I think - giggle. Well, it was the first one that came to mind, okay? And, secretly, I must say I felt a little smug - Viktor did know that the savage English werewolf wrote most of those works, and he was rather impressed. Am I really awful for almost saying: "I told you so"?  
  
Anyway, I've also just got another letter from Harry which I definitely do not like.   
  
_Dear Hermione,  
  
I really am quite fine. Just because I didn't write a lot in my last letter doesn't mean I'm fatally ill or anything. I'm just really busy.  
  
So anyway I hope you are having a good time in Bulgaria. Send my best wishes to the Krums. Sounds like everything's okay with you and Ron.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Harry  
_  
  
Well, well, well. That just isn't Harry. I don't know what's gotten into him - whether he feels really bad from last year, or the Dursleys are -  
  
OH. MY. GOODNESS. NO. I just thought of the most awful thing - What if You-Know-Who has Harry and is forcing him to write those letters to throw us off the track?!?!  
  
No, no, please no, I think I've just gone wild.  
  
And -  
  
Okay, okay, okay. I just threw my diary across the room and took about six deep breaths. I've got to think straight. It helps when I write - if I can write fast enough to keep up with my mind. Okay. If I'm sure I can write Sirius. I have to say thanks to him and Lupin anyway. No, wait. Sirius can't do anything much - could he? Wel - no, Dumbledore. Right. He'll know what to do. And then… wait. Now, has Harry been kidnapped by You-Know-Who?  
  
Hmm.  
  
After a moment's thought, I don't think so. I mean, these letters just aren't Harry. You-Know-Who is practically the most powerful wizard in the world, he wouldn't be that stupid… would he?   
  
No, he wouldn't be. He's too cautious now. And he can't touch Harry when he's with the Dursleys - right? But what if he found - no, no, no; he didn't and can't. Ooh, this is difficult. But it just can't be. Absolutely not. Dumbledore told him to stay at the Dursleys because it was safest. But safest… no, I've got to stop thinking like that! Harry is fine and not at the hands of the Dark Lord.  
  
Right.  
  
Anyway, I'm pretty sure. And, knowing Harry, he's smart enough to make little markings on those letters even if Death Eaters were watching him. He knows me well even and he's very clever.  
  
So back to my theory that the Dursleys actually figured out the post. That seems most likely to me. But you know what? If they have, they're very stupid to think that his two best friends would not notice. It's stupid - that's the only word for it. And you know what that tells me? They do not understand friendship and probably never experienced it. And that's sort of odd. His aunt's sister, Lily… in those letters, they raved about her. She was obviously a warm, caring person.   
  
And they think that they could fool us into thinking our best friend is fine. Ha. What idiots.   
  
Anyway, I feel much better, much more… calm. Whoa, that was close, though. I think I'll talk to Viktor about it - well, not all of it; some of it is personal between the three of us.   
  
And I had better go. I still want to finish that by tomorrow so I can send it off and it'll reach in time, and that above rantings reminded me that I do owe a thank-you letter. Hmm. Might be awkward. Now that I'm not so frantic I notice those odd little things.   
  
  
July 26  
  
  
It's nearly midnight - but I sent it off, and - it's finished! Whoopee! YES!! I just want to punch my fist in the air, but come to think of it, I'm too tired. Oh, I'm exhausted. How can condensing memories and writing be so exhausting? Maybe it has something to do with the fact I was crying half the time. Not just because some of them were extremely funny. It was sad, when you thought of it. All that laughter, even in the midst of the darkness, was silenced pretty quickly. Sad… but I'm still so happy… Harry will be thrilled!  
  
By the way, there have been no attacks since the one Viktor and I made up over, which might be good if I didn't think of it as the calm before the storm strikes. Oh, I'm getting poetic. G'night - I only have a few days left in Bulgaria, and I want to be rested to enjoy them - ooh! I really don't want to go home! Well, yes, I do, in a way. But then… oh, good night!  
  
July 28  
  
  
Just a quick word - Viktor and I are having so much fun! It's just been great - another National practice - oh, are the boys going to be jealous! - more wandering around town, watching our "children" - we practically "adopted" those neighborhood kids, ha! - going to more shows and exhibits, talking, laughing, reading, debating, flying - aren't holidays wonderful?  
  
(Ron would faint if he knew I had said that! Ha!)  
  
  
July 29  
  
  
Mum and Dad wrote today, arranging for me to come home. Oh, poor things, they're worried to death about me. They seem to sense the Dark Side, and they're scared to death of me going to school… you know, I realize again this must be very hard on them, having their "baby" in some strange place. But I have got to go back to Hogwarts… odd, but it know seems like home, just as much as my real home ever did.  
  
With those thoughts in mind I wrote back quite calmly and patiently. They'll be fine… although I'm still worried; I admit it. What if they were attacked?  
  
  
July 30  
  
  
I could sing. Hogwarts letters tomorrow! Well, as Harry would say: "Don't!". I still laugh over that occasionally. I've been packing - sob! I really don't want to go, but Mum and Dad won't be persuaded, and now I'm off to be the Granger Dentists' Receptionist. Hmm. I'm still going to get it for my own teeth, if you know what I mean… they were not to happy about that. I don't see why. I saved them the work, didn't I? Okay, just joking, I understand… somewhat. Gosh. Sometimes I wish they were normal parents, but that's stupid, because they are... at least, they aren't magical. How come Muggle seems stranger than magic, now? Has it really happened? I'm a full-fledged witch?  
  
Anyway, that's a musing for a different time, because Viktor and I have lots to do before I leave… I had such a good time, I really did. Only, Note To Self: When I get back to England, I have to write what I learned of Fletcher and Figg. Pretty interesting stuff, when combined with what I learned from working on Harry's booklet - which, by the way, I called simply: "To Harry". Well, I wasn't too oringinal, but I was reading this thing on how the more moving the storyline, the simpler the "frills" - title, etc., should be. So I tried it, and I really am pleased with the result. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, write down what I learned soon.  
  
  
July 31  
  
  
I'm in shock! I got the Hogwarts letter, but I wasn't made a prefect!! I know, I know, I shouldn't have expected it… but still… Parvati and Lavender? They must be kidding! Perhaps it comes separately, I don't know…  
  
While in shock, I have also said good-bye. To all of Bulgaria… sob. Oh, it went just far, far too fast. I'll write more in a few hours; right now I'm being escorted to a Muggle airplane… to Britain. Sigh. But then I'll have more than enough time to talk.  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Back Home In England

*** Thank you, thank you, thank you! My story was very nicely accepted; I really love reviews! Now, I had all the names to thank written down... and then cleaned my room and lost them. Sorry! But as for a few comments: Ingia's stories? Honored and charmed, but not quite. There are a few differences, but you're right, the two of us do follow the same train of thought. The prefect deal: bear with me. It'll get explained. Also, this will go kinda slow... please hang on for me, it'll make all the difference! Frankly, I really don't like to much of this chapter, but I had to fill in the first half of August before we get the the magical world. Now, enough of my blabber, read on and forgive me if it isn't as good. I promise some good ones WILL be up.! :-)**  
  
July 31, afternoon  
  
Okay, I am now on the airplane and have time to kill… so, naturally, I have little to write about. Except that Viktor and I are lousy at saying good-bye. We ended up smiling as shyly as we first met and stealing half-glances at each other more than talking, trust me - no poetic words of farewell here. It was very original -  
  
"Good-bye, Hermyohneh. Thank you very much for coming."  
  
"'Bye, Viktor. And… thanks. I really, really had a good time."  
  
The English language is not very sufficient, I've noticed of late.  
  
Although earlier Mr. Krum talked to me… and this may sound self-centered, but I've discovered I have a very natural human trait of liking praise… he said I'm very mature for my age and he was very glad that his son had met me… and that I was welcome back anytime, and I doubt that's something he says often. Even Mrs. Krum got a bit teary-eyed - can you imagine? But, I'm sorry, but I just certainly won't miss her in the slightest. Very good thing Kapolei got back safely. Did I mention she had been fussing over that for a time, too?  
  
So now it's over, but it's really okay, in a way, because I'm a tad bit homesick still. I mean, I haven't seen Mum and Dad in ages, and in another month I'll be back at school, and it's really… dangerous… lately. So I am making a vow right now: I, Hermione Granger, with the sun and the sleeping stewardess as witness, vow to be home for Christmas vacation this year. No matter what. The Weasleys can stay with Harry. And I don't take these vows lightly.  
  
Onward to a lighter subject… Hogwarts. Well, that's not exactly light at the moment, but, anyway. The Hogwarts letter is sending a warning that Hogwarts School is under Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Well, I gasped a bit. I had read of that. When Dumbledore puts anything under the Order of the Phoenix, there's a sort of freedom from the Ministry, although the same can't be said for the Dark Side. It's rather complicated to explain. But, for example, Hagrid can continue to teach at Hogwarts under the Order of the Phoenix, stupid Communication Guidelines or not. (Why did I ever doubt Dumbledore?) And it also means that a large amount of Slytherins probably won't be back this year, I bet - although probably some students from other Houses as well. The ones with parents who refuse to believe what is happening. I can't get too sorry about the Slytherins, however.   
  
I also think that perhaps under the Order of the Phoenix they don't have prefects. Oh, yes, I'm a bit upset over this. I tried hard for this. So is one night in the North Tower held against me forever? So I really think that there are just no prefects this year for some reason… Parvati and Lavender? Oh, I suppose it's possible… just not very probable. I wonder which of the boys it'll be. Not Ron or Neville, I know… no offense to Neville, but - sigh - he's Neville. I'd cross Harry out if it weren't for the fact that, well, he's Harry Potter. And out of Dean or Seamus, well, it's quite a choice.   
  
But then, James Potter was a prefect. That was part of the notes Sirius and Lupin sent. I recall it went something very close to this -  
  
Padfoot: So, my dear young lady, I suppose you're dying of curiosity to know how this rather insane young man became Head Boy?  
  
Moony: You should have seen how long it took for him to tell us he had been made prefect.  
  
Padfoot: I swear I had never seen Prongs stutter before. "Er, well, I, er, well, er, I…"  
  
Moony: "Y'see, well, this - s-s-summer, er, I, er…"  
  
Padfoot: This was about the point Lily and Linda interjected: "Get out with it!" It was also the point Linda glanced at Moony, who was smiling silently, and said: "You're in on this joke, aren't you? I swear, you two do anything, I'll have to -"  
  
Moony: That's when Padfoot started yelling at us for planning something without him. Which we hadn't. So we got into a nice scuffle while Prongs got even more flustered. "_I was made a prefect!_" Then there was this perfect golden moment of stunned silence.  
  
Padfoot: Which I, of course, broke.  
  
Moony: Actually, out friend Samantha Orr did, as I recall.  
  
Padfoot: Stop taking the wind out of my sails.  
  
Moony: Anyway -  
  
Padfoot: And do stop changing the subject. Let me.  
  
Moony: Stubborn as ever. Go on; see if you can get it right this time.  
  
Padfoot: Fine, then. So Sammy starts rolling on the floor in laughter and tells him to stop joking. She thought it had actually been Gus. As if.  
  
Moony: That's what you had thought as well.  
  
Padfoot: Ahem.  
  
Moony: Although none of us would have minded. We'll shock you, Hermione, but we really did have a firm belief that any Marauder being made a prefect was the deepest offense, shame, and humiliation we could confer.  
  
Padfoot: What? Some people believe otherwise?  
  
Moony: Yes. Lily did.  
  
Padfoot: Technically, she wasn't a Marauder.  
  
Moony: True. Go ahead and tell what she technically did, since you don't trust me to.  
Just for the record, what Lily did was put up a wonderful front of loving it, although secretly she tired of it pretty quickly. Of course, the two of them took many more words to say that. By the way, those letters had smudge marks all over them, enough for me to believe that they really were elbowing each other out of the way.  
  
And Harry is going to get it today! Oh, I really, really, really hope he likes it!  
  
Another thing on the Hogwarts letter - we're no longer using Miranda Goshawk's Defense Against the Dark Arts seven-year set of textbooks. We've used them the last two years and I really liked them. However, this year Elisabeth Powell's were assigned, which makes me wonder what on earth this teacher is thinking. Powell's are just… not as good. They're inaccurate as well.  
  
One of the things we're getting into this year is Kapykoae. I just read my entry of the first day I learned of that… well, it was scary. But it's really fascinating, and the really amazing part is that the technique isn't really clearly known. That's one of those things I want to find out. It's a horrible curse, but… ingenious, you have to admit. Another of the things we learn in the fifth year is Dark Illnesses. They're really… frightening, but, again, fascinating. One branch in particular are Ginger's Disease, but it's a bit depressing - partially because it is not a pretty death and partly because even Goshawk hasn't given nearly enough information on them. But then, there isn't a lot known. One, like Drothimites, has only affected one known victim - although I heard he lived.   
  
Oh, I just got a brainwave for March's Promise and have just got to work on it. When I write tomorrow I'll probably be lining up appointments for Mum and Dad's latest victims - er, patients - as I talk. Home sweet home, I suppose.   
  
  
  
August 1  
  
I must be some sort of prophetess; except yesterday I didn't see I was so busy I can't really write much.  
  
  
August 2  
  
It was really touching when I met Mum and Dad at the airport. I swear we were all half crying. Then suddenly they started going on - they hadn't really seen me in so long, I had gotten so much taller, I was tanner, I was walking differently, I was filling out -  
  
"Mum! We're in a public airport!"  
  
Of course, Dad chuckled and then, bless him, changed the subject. Although he certainly stared at me all through dinner and before bed Mum hugged me tight for a full minute.  
  
That's okay. How many times during the last school year did I write I would do anything for Mum's hugs at that particular horrible moment?  
  
Ron wrote. I got the letter yesterday evening. Is he awful at being discreet or what?  
  
Dear Hermione -  
  
_You're back from Bulgaria, right? Yes! It won't take so long to get your answers now! Hope you had a good time. The twins and I are dying to hear about those Quidditch practices. Mum is dying to hear you're okay. Dad is dying to ask you what exactly a marcowaver does. In other words, there's not much new here._  
  
Humph.  
  
_Can you come to the Burrow soon and put everyone - especially Mum and Ginny - at rest?_  
  
In other words, he's saying: "Can you come to the Burrow soon so I can see you?" But of course he can't say that right out, now can he?  
_  
_  
  
Honestly.  
  
_Mum's even more worried because he hasn't been writing to anyone's satisfaction. He must be really depressed or the Dursleys are blocking his post. But they don't understand it, right?  
  
Try to make arrangements to come pronto or else we'll meet in Diagon Alley. I'm going to die of shame, walking around with a prefect, but that's the way of things. Congratulations._  
  
You know, I could have fun breaking this news to him. I really want to stun him. How can I do this?  
_-- Ron_  
  
_P.S. Did you see the part about the Order of the Phoenix? Excellent! I bet the Malfoys are too political to take that git away, but we might be freed of a few others, namely Crabbe and Goyle. That's uplifting. I wonder what Malfoy would do without his bodyguards?_  
  
Hmm. No Crabbe and Goyle. You won't hear me complaining. I suppose I should go to the Burrow, but I want to spend some time here first. And then there's the matter of convincing Mum and Dad.  
  
Okay, three families just came in at once, so…  
  
  
August 4  
  
  
Hmm. No letter from Harry, although I know the owl got back. I'm just a little put out. I worked HARD on his birthday present - it would have been really easy to just buy him… oh, say, a book. See, I have some wickedness in me. But, in any case, when you do all that work… sometimes you want to hear: "Say, thanks, Hermione!"  
  
Oh, I got a note from Harry. Not quite a letter.   
  
_Dear Hermione -  
  
Thanks a lot for the schoolbag and the birthday wishes. All's fine here. Are you back from Bulgaria? I'm sure you had a good time. - Harry._  
  
  
Yes, very articulate letter. Did he even bother to go in the bag?  
Sheesh.  
  
Well, you're welcome, old buddy.   
  
*  
  
I'm back, and I feel bad now. It's probably not his fault. I should know that. I'm just a bit depressed. Dad destroyed more of his writings from when he was younger, and I don't know why. He won't talk of it and gives the impression of: "You'll understand when you're older." Actually, the words were: "You'll understand one day." I see why he destroyed those?  
  
I think it's time for yet another vow. Dad started losing interest in his writing when he was my age - and he's good enough to have been famous, I swear - and Lupin said he stopped in his fifth year. I just realized this is my fifth year. So: I, Hermione Granger, with the Big Dipper as witness, swear that I will continue to write and to love doing it throughout the next year. If I can do that, I'm sure I can keep on doing it for the rest of my life. If not… I don't want whatever precious little talent I have to be wasted lie Dad's.  
  
Oh, oh, oh! I got a package from Alyn, that Quidditch stadium worker today. He sent me a little magic calendar that presents a meaningful or funny phase for every day. It'll activate tomorrow. I thought that was really quite thoughtful, as he didn't have to do anything.  
  
Oh, and by the way, Crookshanks is much more fond of Britain than Bulgaria. G'night.  
  
  
August 8  
  
  
This calendar is really neat - not to mention thought-provoking. August 8 - Hate is born of fear, and fear is born of ignorance. Is that ever… well, this little object seems to read my mind. I had been thinking of You-Know-Who and getting worried.  
  
Well, if that wasn't the truest thing I had ever read.  
  
Really, though, when you think of it… so, so true. Take You-Know-Who - why do we hate him? Because we're very, very scared of him! And why are we scared of him? Well, you hit a bit of a snag there, but the truth… we don't know. We don't understand his powers, or know where he'll strike next, or why, or how to stop him.  
  
So, once again, there's more evidence to support my theory that knowledge is your best weapon. Not that Ron'll listen.  
  
  
August 10  
  
  
I feel very bad for blasting Harry the other day.  
  
  
Dear Hermione -  
  
_If you're furious with me, I understand, but once again I have an explanation! Oh, and thank you thank you thank you for my birthday present! I got sort of teary-eyed, I admit, like you predicted… but thank you. It was one of the best I've ever gotten. Believe it or not, it's tied with the Firebolt._  
  
  
Well, humph. I guess from him that's a compliment.  
  
_Wait. Perhaps I should explain first. Well, the Dursleys took the effort to learn owl post and started monitoring my mail, and I had to write according to their standards. Don't tell Ron just yet; I think he and a few Weasleys would be over here fuming and blowing everything up. That's why my letters were a bit… not all that great. Believe me, I did not want to send those, trust me.  
  
So now you want to know how I'm writing you? Dudley's tantrums serve a purpose now. The Dursleys sent me with my neighbor. You might recognize the name. Arabella Figg. Dumbledore mentioned her? Well, something happened when she was at Hogwarts, some sort of curse, and she's really… strange… but I'm not complaining. She was one of my parents' friends at Hogwarts, especially my mum's, so… it was odd, a week before my birthday, when I found out.   
  
Er… Hermione… I'm going to risk telling you this. Don't get angry; don't say anything; you never knew. This is top-secret. That was also the same day I got an impromptu birthday party from Padfoot and Moony.  
  
You don't know about that unless you're talking to me or Ron, got it? And yes, they did break a few thousand laws, both magic and Muggle, which is precisely why I'm rather hesitant to tell you this. If it makes any difference in your opinion, I had a very good time… after Snuffles convinced me to let them get on with it.  
  
And the birthday present… not only is it the best thing, you were your general clever self in putting it in that schoolbag, as I could sense it but didn't take it out in front of the Dursleys. I suppose having the brain of the school as a friend isn't all bad. I bet you and Bella would get along well. According from what you sent and Padfoot and Moony said, she was quite the bookworm herself and after I told her about you she is very interested in meeting you and "giving the poor girl some tips on dealing with you and Ron". I take that to mean we're very annoying and she had to put up with it herself.  
  
Blast it, I've got to send this now. Did you have a good time in Bulgaria? Are you half done with your homework? I'll either meet you at the Burrow or Diagon Alley._  
  
  
It seems that after a month of being unable to write Harry's letter-writing skills have improved dramatically, and I'm not complaining.   
  
Actually, after that July of Awful Letters, I might tell the Weasleys just to get my enjoyment out of their tempter. As for the impromptu birthday party, for heavens' sakes, how bad does he think I am? I've kept a lot of secrets! I've broken quite a few rules! Enough so that I wasn't made a prefect! As for "Bella"… I suppose in the next few days I should write what I found while going through those files in Bulgaria. As for right now I'm being called to help with something.  
  
  
August 16  
  
  
So it's been a while; sorry. I had to do a good bit of homework, because I will get nothing done the fortnight before school, and I also wanted to work on more of Fiddle Girl.   
  
So, what'd I learn?  
  
Mundungus Fletcher:  
  
(And this is just the stuff that stuck in my mind; mind you.)  
  
Gryffindor; graduated 1978, trained in Fire Wards under Griff Mullet, married Michelle Detain in 1984, had one child, named Maria, in 1988, and is currently living outside of Kent.  
  
So, actually, not much. Yawn. But wait until you hear Arabella Hagley Figg -  
  
Gryffindor; graduated 1978, secretary for Cornelius Fudge '79 - '80, married Fredrick Figg '82, widowed '86, vouched for custody of Harold Potter '80, Special Note: In '74, was hit with Bendall's Curse. Stayed in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for three weeks.  
  
Bendall's Curse! Imagine! It's a really, really bad curse, and most people died from it. What happens is that the victim's mind is dimmed so they become rather slow and dull-witted as long as the Dark Side is not in power. While they are in power, they can practically act as an alarm clock, because right when any Dark Activity is going on they become very clever once again and they will have a horrible headache. It's a dreadful curse, meant to break the spirit of the victim and the victim's close friends, but I hadn't known it in the last century or so had victimized anyone.  
  
  
August 16, later  
  
  
Wait… if this Bella person can carry on a conversation with Harry, she's improving, right? And if she's improving, that means You-Know-Who's power is, too. Oh, no.  
  
  
August 18  
  
  
I hate being right. There's been another Muggle killing in London today - eight Muggles dead, two children. Awful, simply awful, and again the Ministry is blaming Sirius. Ha, ha, ha - very funny, I don't think. But I think I'm also not telling Mum and Dad. Sometimes, you know, you must protect your parents.  
  
Oh, I went to the Speaking Society meeting today, as an "honorary member", since I once belonged to it. I helped a girl named Chrissie, who was doing my old piece - and it was vaguely embarrassing, listening to her using all the little things I added to it a few years ago. Vaguely flattering, but vaguely embarrassing as well - but no doubt, Hogwarts is worth it. In fact, I might be going to the Weasleys. I do want to see Ginny… and maybe even the twins.  
  
  
August 21  
  
  
I asked Mum and Dad about the Weasleys. Of course, they sort of didn't take to the idea, but didn't say it out loud and stopped just short of using the two worst words a parent can say: "We'll see." Aren't those words annoying? Instead, they used the ones that are nearly as bad: "We'll think about it."  
  
Sheesh.  
  
I asked Dad today why he stopped writing. It just sort of… came out.   
  
"Dad?"  
  
"Yes, Hermione?"  
  
"Why'd you ever stop writing?"  
  
Dad paused.  
  
"Dad? Oh - I'm sorry if I'm being rude; it's just that I think you were really, really good."  
  
Dad paused again before answering. "This Professor Lupin," he said suddenly, just when I thought he was going to ignore me, "you said he once did what I refer to as 'scirbbles'?"  
  
"That's what he said."  
  
"When'd he stop?"  
  
"Fifth year."   
  
"Why so?"  
  
"He said he was upset because his mother died…" And then it hit me, and I felt so, so bad for asking. "Oh! I'm sorry!"  
  
He paused again. "Yes," he said at last, "something like that. My older sister died. She was the one who encouraged me. She died in a car accident. Afterwards, I really lost the desire." Then he paused again and said: "Hermione, in a few days I want to have a talk."  
  
Uh-oh. My first thought was: "What did I do wrong? Am I in trouble?" But Dad didn't look angry; he just looked sad.  
  
I'm not sure I want to have this talk. Again, me and my big mouth.  
  
Mum said not to worry: "He's just sad, honey. He needs some time to think it over. He loves the fact you write as well, it just hurts him. I don't know if it's Cecelia, or asking what might have been, but he loves you very, very much."  
  
I think I'm going to the park for a while for some fresh air. Mulling things over is easier when you're outside, I believe.  
  



	4. John Tries To Warn

***Author's Note: This chapter came to me clearer than anyone since the first one, so I think I'm getting back on track. Tell me if you get confused. Here we go with the Weasley twins again - that prank only just came to me, but already it's going to be a central part of the story! The plot is getting along well, too. Thanks to all who reviewed. :-) I keep writing because of reviews. Tell me if you liked/didn't like this chapter, and if you don't know who "Darmintry" is -- bad! You haven't read "Years of the Wolf"! (Tho I don't blame you...) Well, she's a Dark Witch who was in power, but was defeated about the same year the Marauders were born.   
  
Disclaimer: Oh, come on. You really think I'm good enough to make money off this? Why, what a compliment! I DON'T OWN IT, thank you very much!!**  
**  
*By the way... what would you think of a quick story explaining Arabella Figg and Bendall's Curse? I'm probably going to post it soon; tell me if you'd be interested when you review. Thanks.**  


  
August 23  
  
Well, Dad and I had The Talk. It actually happened this evening when Dad asked if he could come in my room. What could I say? No? I dropped my History of Magic essay and complied. I didn't really think he was angry with me, but then…  
  
Well, Dad deserves more credit than he gets. First thing he says is: "We decided you could go to the Weasleys tomorrow, if you want."  
  
"Oh… thanks," I replied, bounding up to give him a hug. But when we broke away Dad went straight to my desk and opened the second drawer, the one with all the Daily Prophets telling of all the recent Dark Activity.  
  
"I know things aren't looking too well with this He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fellow," he said calmly.   
  
Clever Daddy. I wasn't even too upset he had read them. I mean, it saved me the trouble of telling him. He then sighed and said: "Cecelia was killed by one of them. Darmintry."  
  
I froze. Aunt Cecelia was killed by Darmintry?  
  
"Hermione, keep safe. I love you, girl."  
  
I just hugged him again and started crying softly. You-Know-Who's rising must have been killing him. "Let's keep this from Mum," he said softly. "She had no idea, 'til you got your letter."  
  
"Mum's strong enough to hear the truth," I replied just as softly.  
  
Actually, he was silent for a moment and nodded. I think he's telling her now. So now I understand it all a little better.  
  
"These Weasleys," he said slowly, "and Harry. They'll take care of you, won't they?" It wasn't really a question; he knew they would do anything they had to for me. It wasn't a demand; it was a statement, an admission that someone other than him and Mum were looking out for me. I think it must be hard for parents to "let go" a bit like that.  
  
Then he laughed and told the worst, most unrepeatable joke. I can't even write it down; I'd never be able to face Mum again. But we both giggled and felt better. He warned me not to study to death this year - "if you come back looking like you did the past two years, you're grounded, young lady" - and that he loved me, again.  
  
I can hear his and Mum's voices now. I think I should go write Ron; he'll be here the instant he reads the letter. Actually, I'm not even sure I want to go now, but Dad told me to go. In fact, he actually ordered me to go. So I'm going, I suppose, after another nice long hug from Mum. When I next write, I'll probably be at the Burrow - yes, I'm excited! The Muggle world may not be as depressing lately, but it's too Muggle. I think that's a sign I'm becoming more witch than Muggle, but what can I do about it?  
  
August 24  
  
  
Honestly, what have I done? As if the Weasley twins weren't bad enough without me offering a suggestion and having another of them… oh, I hope Mrs. Weasley forgives me some day, I really do.   
  
Okay, I suppose I should back up, although I will have to write about it. That's all anyone is talking about here. Mrs. Weasley is scolding them, although she doesn't fully understand what they're going to do. Mr. Weasley is doing a miserable job at being properly fatherly stern. Bill is shaking his head, grinning, and then offering suggestions when Mrs. Weasley isn't around. Ginny is trying - for Mrs. Weasley's sakes and mine - to be disapproving, but is just too amused. Ron is furiously writing Harry a letter hinting at it and forcing him to come over by tomorrow.   
  
Back to this early afternoon, when the Mr. Weasley and Ron came to pick me up by Floo Powder. It doesn't seem that this trip was as disastrous as the one to the Dursleys last year. Of course, the two of them were both fascinated by our all-Muggle house, but my parents know how to deal with Mr. Weasley and I with Ron, so the refrigerator took a dent but otherwise nothing was broken or injured. I hugged Mum and Dad goodbye and they promised to meet us at the Leaky Cauldron on Wednesday when we go school shopping! I still get so excited by Diagon Alley.  
  
We made it over to the Burrow in one piece, and I'm thankful to say that Mrs. Weasley was completely nice now - almost too nice, as if to make up for before. But never mind. Let's see, before we get to Fred and George - oh, yes, Bill seems to be on holiday from Egypt and Ron and I are not to know what he's doing. He seems cheerful, if tired - like Mr. Weasley, although he's considerably less cheerful. Percy… Percy looks awful, although Ron said gloomily that I'm lucky to have even seen him today. Ron says he's never around anymore. Percy looks dead tired, with deeply circles bloodshot eyes. I notice he's not so enthusiastic over the Ministry anymore. Ron was right - Percy actually criticizes the Ministry more than everyone else put together now. Poor thing; he's deeply disillusioned.   
  
Now, Fred and George. Well, I have to go back some more to when I was reading the material for Harry's "book". I was so busy I couldn't mention it then, but one of the little Marauder pranks was in their third year when there was an assistant of Hagrid's for a year everyone really hated. They got the bright idea to take a pair of twins a year below them and fool the assistance into thinking they were triplets. Actually, I admit - it was quite good.   
  
Well, ever since them I've been thinking, horrified, of Fred and George and whether they ever tired that or what might happen if Harry let something slip and gave them that idea. I've been stunned with horror at the idea of Weasley "triplets" - triple diple double trouble! And I was so worried about whether they ever tried them that when we greeted each other outside the Burrow, I stared. Well, of course, George suddenly glances sideways at me and asks: "Hermione, what's wrong?"  
  
Well, my throat was all dry and I wasn't thinking straight and the first thing I said was: "Did you and Fred ever try to fool people into thinking you had a triplet?"  
  
And I was worried about Harry telling them!  
  
You should have seen their faces. They just lit up in delight.   
  
Fred bowed deeply. "My dear young Miss Granger, you are a pure and brilliant genius."  
  
"Splendid idea," snickered George. And it just went from there. This year they are spreading the word that they have a triplet named "David". They already owled their roommates and Angelina and Katie and Alicia with the idea and to warn them to play along. They're going to use the ruse on whoever is our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. Sometimes George will play David, sometimes Fred, and sometimes they'll have to play each other. David is a Ravenclaw - "Isn't it prefect? No one suspects Ravenclaws of being tricksters; we have Ravenclaw friends to play along, and the Ravenclaws might even help us with a Polyjuice Potion!" - and when I pointed out that sooner or later a teacher was going to mention the Weasley twins, Fred smirked.   
  
"Dear Professor Vector has already helped us on more than one occasion. As has Sinistra."  
  
Well, excellent. And Vector's in cahoots with Fred and George? That's awful. I really admired her. Oh, I still do… but honestly! And Sinistra! How come all the good teachers end up being horrible pranksters? They're also working on another potion Ron and I haven't heard the name of while eavesdropping - they aren't telling us all this straight out; the less people that know around here, the better! - that will seemingly make our Defence teacher hear a different word or phrase when someone says a certain word or phrase - like "twins" - that might incriminate the "three" of them.   
  
Isn't it awful? The really awful part is, I'm dying of laughter. This is really, really good - no, it isn't! It's an awful, low-down, mean, and deceitful trick?  
  
Oh, who I am fooling? It is all of those adjectives, but it is also hilarious and ingenious.  
  
  
  
August 26  
  
Going to Diagon Alley tomorrow! YES!! Finally!  
  
Harry's here as well! He came the day after the infamous "Weasley triplets" plan got thought up. Harry looks horribly pale and serious but he nearly died choking on laughter when he heard Fred and George proudly tell of their plan - well, proudly in whispers outside of the house, as Mrs. Weasley is not to know all of this. He then glanced at me and mouthed: "You put the idea in their head, Ms. Author."  
  
I nodded.  
  
He grinned. Later we re-read the "material" notes of that prank. Pretty funny.   
  
Harry came here escorted by Sirius and Lupin, but neither of them came near the Burrow, even if the Weasleys know about Sirius now. Sirius was looking a lot better than he had in Hogsmeade last year, but Lupin looked a lot worse from when he left Hogwarts. Harry was beaming. I didn't ask yet about how they got him from the Dursleys. He's here, and Mr. Weasley is secretly relived that he didn't have to go to the Dursleys, and Mrs. Weasley didn't even bother questioning Harry as to how he got here.   
  
The Weasley Triplets Update: Fred and George are on a mission in Diagon Alley: find ingredients for a Calanium Solution. They'll be able to make it so that whichever poor soul is teaching Defence this year will go the whole year in this condition: whenever she hears the word "twins", she actually hears "triplets". They're so awful.   
  
Harry Update: Like I said, he looked too pale and too tired and too serious. He's now acting almost too light-hearted as well; laughing at everything and with a constant smile I can figure is forced. He thanked me repeated for the "booklet"; I caught him reading it once already today. He says he hasn't told Ron about it yet. I understand. He did tell Ron and me about the "impromptu birthday party".  
"Aunt Petunia got turned into a witch," he added with a sly grin.  
  
"How?" I asked in horror.  
  
"Sirius. He got a tad upset with them. Remus and I spent a good deal of time talking him out of hexing them into St. Mungo's on the spot."  
  
"So how'd he end up turning your aunt into a witch?" I asked sternly.  
  
"Well," he smiled, "Sirius transported us a few blocks away so he could hex away at sweet will and without us to stop him."  
  
I shook my head. "Harry! So what did you do?"  
  
"Well, once we figured out why we were suddenly not inside, we got the bright idea to walk back very, very slowly."  
  
"How slow?" grinned Ron.  
  
"And I accidentally led us down a wrong turn," continued Harry casually.  
  
"I bet you did," I scowled. "Let me guess. It was a Convitor Curse - turns the victim into whatever they think is the lowest thing to exist."  
  
"Yeah," Harry laughed. "We got back at just the right moment, too. Apparently she thought being a naturally powerful witch was the most humiliating thing to be, and she was giving Sirius a very good duel. Hermione, don't look at me like that. They wiped their memories before they left."  
  
I shook my head in disbelief, but I suppose they have so many counts against them it doesn't seem to matter how many laws they break now. And besides, Harry looked really happy when he was talking about it, so I tried to let it go.   
  
But I did ask in Sirius had gone as Padfoot. "Until he was inside Bella or my uncle's house." And was Lupin actually wearing his Identification-Pin? "What's that? Oh - yeah, Bella made him wear it while we were over there. He took it off, though."  
  
I don't want to upset Harry, but it's really dangerous. If anyone finds Sirius was there and catches him, Harry is left with a godfather who had received the Dememtor's Kiss on the spot. And if anyone catches Lupin without his ID-Pin - yes, there're unfair, but it's the law - and in the company of Sirius Black, I hate to think of what'll happen to him. Death, in the Ministry's opinion, would be too kind and brief. And then Harry is left without his parents' friends.  
Oh, please, I hope those two use a bit more caution.  
  
Uh-oh - Harry and Ron have started a fantastic Quidditch debate, Fred and George have joined in, and now there's a full-fledged war going on. I've got to remember to ask Harry about Bella - later, though, he's pretty distracted at the moment - and so am I. But I need to know how her condition is; it's key to estimating what You-Know-Who is doing. He's been a tad too inactive for my comfort lately.  
  
August 27  
  
Had a wonderful time in the Alley; what else to say? Was horrified to discover that someone - now, I won't say his name, but his initials are Ron Weasley - didn't do any work on three subjects worth of homework this summer, but that's something we'll deal with on the train ride to school, I suppose.  
  
I love Alyn's calendar saying for today: "Obstacles are what you see when you take your eyes off the goal." Is that one not great and wonderful and true, or what?  
  
I did remember to ask Harry about Bella. He says he hadn't seen her since when he wrote that one letter to me because the Dursleys, it seems, don't exactly let him wander. He said that last time she wasn't doing too well, and while I hate to say it, that's a good sign. Being happy because someone is seriously ill - that is one awful curse, but there you are!  
  
Mum and Dad seem greatly reassured by the Weasleys, although at first I thought that they were a bit worried when they saw how tired Mr. Weasley looked. But they got over it and chatted happily all day. Mum was laughing in secret as Mr. Weasley asked about elevators and Mr. Weasley's eyes widened in shock when Dad inquired about garden gnomes. They're getting along fine. We're staying for two more days and have booked rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. I'd like to write more, but Ron and Harry and I are so busy with stuff - oh, screw this, I've things to do!  
  
August 29  
  
I've still got things to do. Like helping Ron with his Charms essay that he's written two sentences on, and packing my bags, and having a long talk with Ginny, and distracting Mrs. Weasley from her upset daughter, and lying like crazy to Fred and George and Percy and Bill, and praying for that poor Defence teacher who is facing three Weasley twins. But right now I'm too worked up and worried. Harry is trying to talk sense into Ginny while I try to write some sense in myself.  
  
What happened was that this morning Ginny, Ron, Harry, and I were having a nice normal stroll through Diagon Alley while three of us talked Ron out of going down Knockturn Alley. Harry's none too fond of the place, and Ginny and I have no intention of finding out precisely why.  
  
Ginny ended up convincing Ron to go to the Magical Menagerie instead. She's really dying for an owl, and even if she can't get one she loves to look at them. It's a pity Percy needs Hermes. Oh, this reminds me that Fred and George got Ron and Ginny new dress robes for some reason. Are they trying to play matchmaker their final year, or what? And where exactly did they find the money - gambling? I hope not. Anyway, that's really unimportant now.  
  
Of course, this place was too close to Knockturn Alley for Ron. Oh, no, Ronnie just had to sneak 'round back and try to slip over into the Alley. Ginny and Harry and I realized this far too late and followed him - but we weren't in Knockturn Alley or even Diagon Alley, I think. Well, we were, but we were in a sort of dark square with four stores surrounding us, and everything was strangely quiet and spooky. Am I explaining myself well? Probably not. It was just a little weed-filled alleyway, and we were eager to get out and I started telling off Ron while leading him and the others to a place I could see some actually daylight. It seems the roofs of the stores overlap. Not a pretty place, I assure you.   
  
Well, we had just reached the edge and could see people in Diagon Alley wandering and jostling past when we spotted a man who looked… odd. Actually, he turned out to be downright frightening, but right now he just looked odd.   
  
He had tow-colored hair that fell untidily over his eyes and face. His eyes were dark as Alyn's had been, and he was considerably pale. He looked as though he had once been a comfortable, muscular weight, but he had thinned considerably and looked a bit ill. He was muttering distractedly, and my first thought was "madman". He had on clean robes, but they obviously had been fitted for someone else and weren't his and he looked very out of place. I could sense that this was no wizard. I think Harry could as well; since we're of both the Muggle and magic world we can sense this better than Ron and Ginny.  
  
But we had to pass him to get out in the right Alley, so we walked cautiously over and were going to go past when he inquired pleasantly: "You going be where?"  
  
He didn't sound foreign, but he talked funnily. He grammar was all mixed up and he was forcing words a good deal. We four were all more or less unnerved and I answered honestly: "Back into Diagon Alley. We were chasing our friend Ron."  
  
He nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes. Good friends you are, for Ron?"  
  
Harry and I nodded uncertainly. Ron looked nonplussed; and Ginny frightened.  
  
His eyes gazed and glistened off a bit when he suddenly stared at Harry. "Dream girl's boy," he said abruptly.  
  
Harry looked rather pale and uncomfortable. "I guess."  
  
"Flower witch. Dream girl. Powerful, she be. Was. No, be. And flippant fool - no, no, no." He sounded like a house-elf trying to break a bind. "Powerful, brave. Man of Potter line."  
  
I think he was talking of Harry's parents, and Ginny had the same thought. "Be?" she repeated sharply, for once not looking scared. "Is she alive, sir?"  
  
The man's eyes turned to her. "Not 'sir'," he said absently. "I'm John. I was. I was John."  
  
"Who're you now?" I asked suddenly.  
  
"Many, many questions. Few sufficient answers. I'm not John. I'm different." Suddenly he looked close to tears. "I'm fighting; I'm fighting, I promise - I'm trying!"  
  
I thought of Anna a moment and wondered if this man might be another, but then, Ron had just bought this ridiculous garlic wreath for Fred and George to use - they said it would be "useful in operation triple trouble" - and no, I don't want to know why - and John didn't flinch. He acted odd, but it sure wasn't the garlic.  
  
"Curious, young girls are," he continued, his mind and tongue roving all over the place. "Young girls. Schoolgirls. You go to the school? Dumbledore's?"  
  
"Yes," answered Ron, sounding threatening, like: Don't try anything with my friend and little sister!   
  
"You are also there?" he asked to Ron and Harry, presumably.  
  
They nodded.  
  
"Good. Good. Can never learn enough. I didn't. I read. I lots and lots read. Knowledge. Didn't work. I victim still fell."  
  
Ron sort of shot me a glance - I couldn't believe him, egging me on in a moment like that!  
  
"You be learning much at the school, Dumbledore's school?"  
  
I felt like I was in the Forbidden Forest talking to centaurs. "Yes."  
  
"Good. Good. Education. More and more. Different things, is not?"  
  
I couldn't make sense of it, but I was captivated, especially when he continued: "You're not Emily." He again sounded close to tears.   
  
"No, sorry," Ginny replied shakily.  
  
John blinked back tears. "Cry, can't," he mumbled. "I cannot cry anymore. I may not."  
  
"How come?" I demanded.  
  
"No more. Can't go back to my girl, either. Emily - little, bright, pretty. Looked like mother. Eyes were mine, though. Emily had dark brown eyes. Rather like the young girl," he nodded to Ginny.   
  
"Why can't you go back to her?" I asked. Ron nudged me but I simply nudged back.  
  
"I can't," he said flatly. "I am forbidden."  
  
Me: "By who?"  
  
"Even if he freed me, I cannot go back. No. No. I am not her father anymore."  
  
"Who keeps you back?"  
  
"Not just he. The…the… Emily better off without me. So is my wife. I had wife, you know." John sounded brighter for a moment. "Rowena. Beautiful girl. Met in school. She was one of them, but not quite. She was more of the other, like I had been. But I no be either anymore."  
  
"What happened?" I asked sharply in my best prefectional tone.  
  
He gave me what was, for him, a straight reply: "Captured," he replied dully, his eyes clouding over. "Foolish. 'Twas capture one. Then caught two."  
  
"Did you escape in between?" Harry asked suddenly.  
  
"Couldn't. _He_ be strong. And the little one. Has power. Can cause pain. Shunned, but great power."  
  
"What little one?"  
  
"Little one. Helps _he_ control. Keeps us in line. I'm fighting; I'm fighting. Got to fight."  
  
"John," I began gently, but he looked at me miserably and cut me off.  
  
He was visibly tearing at the eyes now as he glanced about dejectedly. "I try! I try! I try! The girl, she fights! She's able! Ann… May… Ann… May… She's willing! Fights! Captured one, two, three, four - fights - escapes - strong will!"  
  
I felt suddenly dizzy and ill. "Anna Maynard?" I demanded with a small cry of horror. "Four! Was she bitten again? Tell me, John! Is she a vampire now?"  
  
"Caught twice. Capture once. Tried to escape once. Many kinds of capture, yes."  
  
I was so fed up with this John; he kept playing word games with me and I really needed to know about Anna!   
  
"She's a young girl, too. Not mine. Not the other's, either."  
  
"Which other?" asked Ron wearily.  
  
John's face took on a hard set. "The other. Strong fighter! Helped me, yes, yes, escape, no. No escape from caught, hard escape from capture. He's looking for his little girl, too!"  
  
"Who's this?" I demanded.  
  
"Eyes. Light. Light eyes. Strong will. Fights. Fights quiet, fights hard. Fights quiet, but disturbed he. And little one. Disturbed both. And pale one."  
  
"Pale one?" repeated Ron in exasperation. I could tell he was getting confused.  
  
"Tall, thin, pale, power. And the other. Mean eyes. Dark, mean eyes. Cold, greatly hurt. Yes, greatly hurt. Cold. Mean. Hatred, deep hate. And the others. Many others. Obey. Obey. Obey - _fight_! Must fight!"  
  
"Wait a seco -" Ginny began.  
  
"I will fight! For the young ones' sake! Fight! For light eyes' girl, and my girl, and you two, and flower witch's boy, and young Ron! Fight - struggle - I won't! I _won't_! I will fight!"  
  
Now he looked truly demented and dangerous and we were about to make a run for it when he softened and turned to Harry and Ginny. "Flower witch; dream girl, sleeps. Dead. No more herself, but her courage is still around. He still fears it. And the singing lark. Fears the song of the singing lark. The girl and the bird."  
  
"Phoenix?" asked Harry.  
  
"Singing lark bird," agreed John. "Phoenix. Order of Phoenix? Dumbledore's line. And dark-haired singing lark lady. He fears her. She's alive, she is, she is! Ann May saw so!"  
  
He darkened again and looked truly miserable. "I don't deserve… no tears… fight. Fight. I won't let it win!"  
  
"What's it?" I burst out.  
  
"I won't let it hurt you!"  
  
"What - is - it?" I demanded again.  
  
"No! No! Not hurt another girl! Mind dark, confused - not - no - no - fight! Singing lark - dream girl - light eyes - artists, yes - won't fail! Thank you!" He suddenly turned sharply and ran down the dark alley to a different point, and disappeared to where I presume Knockturn Alley would be.  
  
That's when Ginny burst out into tears. She had been so calm and strong during this, but it was too much for her. She buried her face in her hands and turned to Ron, who patted her on the head. Then Harry put a comforting arm around her - and can you believe me? The first thing I thought is: "Oh, Ginny's going to like that. She's had that crush on him forever." Can you believe me? Oh, I am so ashamed of myself!  
  
Then, idiot that I am, I started crying, too, but instead of sobbing just said through silent tears: "Let's get out of here, shall we?" Harry said the same words at the same time, looking distantly far away.  
  
It was after John left that we were so impacted. We felt so frightened after he left, and I'm exhausted, but there's more to write. That's what happened. Now on to Hermione's Musings.   
  
Who the… hmm… the English language is suddenly not strong enough without swearing… no, no, no, just spent too much time with Ron is all!… Who could that man have been? I can't describe how creepy it was, and how frightening, and how sad. John looked really, really sad and we couldn't do anything! And what about Anna? If I could get in contact with her… she hasn't written me since last November…   
  
Harry's writing Sirius furiously now, which makes me feel much better. Ever since we talked with him in Hogsmeade last year, I really admired him. He's so clever, and everything gets a lot clearer after he finishes his say.   
  
Uh-oh… Ron and Harry are angry with me and are demanding to know who "Ann May" is and why I didn't tell them about her before… I better stop now and explain, they're about to drag me away. Oh, boy, they are not going to like t-  
  
August 29, later  
  
  
Well, I think when we're all forty-five Harry and Ron will forgive me.   
  
"You knew her for two whole years now and didn't tell us?" Ron hollered at one point, but now we're all talking sensibly and I think they might even let me live. But honestly, how could I tell Ron? Perhaps it's just because the Weasleys are an old wizarding family, but he's so prejudicial about things like this! You heard him last year with Hagrid!  
  
I had a talk with Ginny, too. She thinks we know more about this than we do and is a bit huffy that we won't tell her more. And she overheard Ron suggesting to Harry: "Write Snuffles" earlier - Ron is so careless, he's got to have more caution than that - and no one will tell her who "Snuffles" is and she's very upset. She knows that Dumbledore trusts Sirius, of course, but we can't really tell her all the parts about his being Harry's godfather and Harry's correspondence with him and all.   
  
And now Mrs. Weasley has noticed that Ginny's face is tear-streaked. Uh-oh. This may not be good. I'll be right back.  
  
August 29, later  
  
Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have nearly the whole story. They know all about John. Well, I didn't add in everything I knew, and as I knew most of it they have information with a lot of holes. I just don't trust anyone with this until I know what to do! Ginny didn't mention Snuffles or anything she overheard about "Ann May", though. The Weasleys are writing a report to certain trusted Ministry officials. I think I trust Sirius more. Of course, Ron made a big deal about this when I said that. "Since when does Hermione Granger not trust the high and mighty authorities?"  
  
Bill and Percy know something of this. I know they do. They had these really closed expressions when they heard of it. Bill and Mr. Weasley talked quietly awhile, and then I heard Bill say: "I'll owl Charlie, and he'll tell us whatever else he might know." Percy looked really pensive for a moment and then demanded to know why we were telling the incompetent Ministry this! Has Percy ever changed since he found out about Mr. Crouch! He trusts no one of the Ministry now, except his father. It's almost scary. Harry had this shocked look on his face when he first heard one of Percy's "Ministry tirades".  
  
I think I'll go try to badger Bill. He's nice enough, and I want to know why Charlie might know something.  
  
  
August 30  
  
I talked to Bill. The conversation went a bit like this:  
  
Me: "Bill? Can I ask you something?"  
  
Bill: (smiles) "Sure, Hermione. What's up? Ron giving you trouble?"  
  
Me: "As usual. I heard you say Charlie knew something about this John. What's going on with that?"  
  
Bill: (sighs, face falls) "Hermione, I really can't get into that."  
  
Me: "Please, Bill. I won't tell a soul, not Ron or Harry or Ginny, and I have a theory and I just want to confirm it."  
  
Bill: "Tell me the theory."  
  
Me: (since, after all, I didn't really have much of a theory) "This is completely secret."  
  
Bill: "'Course. All confidential."  
  
Me: (exaggerating what I thought a bit just so I could see Bill's reaction) "I know the Ann May girl. She's a girl a little younger than me that might be a vampire now. I know Charlie works with dragons with Romania. Seems to me this is all very creature-is-tic. John, however, was very English. He was also a Muggle. It's my opinion he was captured by You-Know-Who. Romania is close to Albania. That's where You-Know-Who and Wormtail were for a good deal of last year. But Charlie was here with us around the time Bertha Jorkins was killed. Then he was helping with the Triwizard Tournament. At the third task, you said Charlie 'couldn't get off work'. What kind of work? Isn't he sort of independent? (pause) I'm getting pretty jumbled up. Am I making any sense?  
  
Bill (smiles, eyes twinkling) "You've got a lot of good facts, Hermione. Go on."  
  
Me: "Okay, thanks. Putting all and all together, I'm wondering if Charlie was not doing 'errands' for Dumbledore last year and had a hand in all this."  
  
Bill: "He was doing 'errands' for Dumbledore. And that's all you get."  
  
Me: "Wait!" By now I was desperate and said the most outrageous and dramatic thing that came to mind: "John's a -" Death Eater? Severus Snape's long-lost brother? A Dragon Amimagus? "werewolf, I think." There. That was almost as dramatic as Severus Snape's long-lost brother. Ugh. Horrid thought.  
  
Bill: "Congratulations. You're closer than anyone else has been."  
  
Well, that told me he knew a lot more than he was letting on, right?!  
  
Me: "Bill! John played enough word games with me today, TELL me something!"  
  
Bill: "I'll tell you that I'm no more sure than you are. I have a lot of guesses. Yours was probably the best of everyone - except mine, of course."  
  
Me: "Sure. Of course."  
  
Bill: "I knew you'd understand! But, seriously, Charlie knows a lot about this. I don't; Dad doesn't; Mum doesn't."  
  
Percy does, I thought.  
  
Bill: "And I have no doubt that in a couple of months you'll have pieced together the whole story. Now, I'll give you one piece of information since you told me of Ann May. That was an important bit. Here's what I know: The chap's name is John Trizinardi, and he's was in Albania last year. He was a scholar. He was studying goodness-knows-what, that's for you to find out. Keep me updated and we'll share info." He winked, and I saw that he was offering me a chance to help solve the mystery and get the information I craved at the same time.  
  
I like Bill.  
  



	5. First Day Back

***Again, you don't know how much I live for reviews. I sound pathetic, I know, but you've all really heartened me! Thanks again to you all! -- What's next? Ha! Read on to find out, missy! And "that poor DADA teacher"? *grin* Read on, my dear.  
  
Note:   
* The girl is not a Mary Sue. She's not an exchange or even a new student. She's an old student just now brought to light, and Harry doesn't fall in love with her or even makes instant friends with her. In my version of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" she's not mentioned a fifth of the time Hermione does. So trust me and don't leave just because you see the words "didn't recognize her..."  
  
* As for Hagrid's assistants, you'll see. Believe it or not, it all works into my plot. Very little of what Hermione writes does not later affect the plot in some way or another. Again, please trust me and read on!  
  
* Shameless sponsor plug: My latest story, "Serendipity" isn't half as bad as the review. In fact, I thought it was just as good as this story. Lavender Ice, that's not really the one I mentioned uploading but it DOES tell what happened to Bella Hagley Figg from Sirius's point of view, and he was an eyewitness. I'll have "The Worst of Curses", the BHF story told from the POV of Linda Fairchild, up soon. It's coming along wonderfully well, I just haven't the time to type it!  
  
Okay, enough blabbing! Onward! -----**  


  
  
August 31  
  
I cannot believe Harry! Bill and I talked all last night trying to figure out what was up with our good mate John, and today Harry, who hasn't even mentioned him voluntarily, comes up with the best theory so far!  
  
And… and… oh, goodness, I hate this Sara Blustovadk girl! ER!! Oh… I have to start at the beginning… but here goes:  
  
It was this morning when Harry got a letter from Sirius. Sirius sent it before we sent the owl about John. Harry really wanted to tell us about whatever was in this letter and so we waited all morning to get a chance but couldn't, between everything we had to do and hiding from the Weasleys. I'm sorry, the Weasleys are still some of the most wonderful people I know, but ever since the Dark Side has come back, Rita Skeeter's stupid lies about me, and Sirius, we've really been on edge a lot, especially with Mrs. Weasley. But don't try telling Harry that if you value your life, of course!  
  
So after we said goodbye to Mum and Dad and the Weasleys - not an easy thing, as our parents seemed scary silly - and we immediately tried to find an empty compartment. Not easy. As soon as we'd find one and Harry so much as glanced at the letter, another group of people would come in. I know Parvati says the three of us have got to stop hiding from everyone else, but, honestly, what else are we to do at times like_ this_?   
  
So finally, finally, finally we find an empty compartment. Only it isn't empty, at second glance. There's this girl about three-fourths back, with_ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5_, but she wasn't reading. She was staring out the window… but her eyes weren't daydreamish. They were sharply thoughtful, and I vaguely recognized her from my first year. A Ravenclaw, I think. She has light hair and light eyes, and for a moment I remembered John's words: "Light eyes". He referred to a person as them. But then, there are a lot of people in this world with light eyes.   
  
Ron fumed silently under his breath for a moment and Harry, polite as he generally tries, at least, to be, couldn't help but look put out, and the girl glanced up and noticed and was just_ too_ apologetic - "Oh! I'm sorry - please excuse me - would you like to me leave - can you ever forgive me?"  
  
Okay, I'm exaggerating. But I'm angry with her and need her to sound stupid a while to get a good laugh. Snicker, snicker. Okay, now I feel better.  
  
What she really said was: "Oh, sorry - you wanted an empty compartment, didn't you?"  
  
Harry and I nodded, rather vigorously.  
  
"Certainly," the girl continued, carefully placing her book into a schoolbag as battered as Ron's, speaking all the while. "Er… you'd be Ron Weasley, right?"  
  
"Er - yeah." Ron looked grateful; being recognized before Harry Potter.  
  
"And you're Harry Potter, and you're Hermione Granger."  
  
"How'd you know?" I demanded sharply. I just didn't like her. For one thing, she seemed to be reading our minds!  
  
She suddenly reddened a bit, even if she's sunburned in the first place. "Er… I'm really sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversations in Diagon Alley. I heard your first names, and the rest wasn't hard to figure out. And I remember you from a few years ago. What year are you in?"  
  
Ron looked somewhat pleased at the attention, and it was he who replied: "Fifth."  
  
She nodded. "You were in your second, then, when I left."  
  
"What for?" I demanded.  
  
She didn't meet my eye. "Family things," she said lightly. "I suppose we'll meet up later." She stood up to leave. "By the way, my name is -"  
  
"Hey, Granger, what'd you think of the happenings this summer, eh?" sneered a familiar voice. Yep. Malfoy. He sauntered in with both Goyle but not Crabbe. "Poor old -" And then he spotted that girl and visibly paled. "Blustovadk?" he said, a little weakly. "You're…" he trailed off and regained his composure. "So," he sneered. "You're coming back to Hogwarts?"  
  
"It certainly appears so," she replied calmly - coolly.  
  
Malfoy looked torn between delight, disgust, and clear worry. "And just what House were you re-Sorted in?"  
  
I swear I heard Blustovadk mutter: "None of your business, Malfoy," but all she said loud enough to be heard was: "Gryffindor."  
  
Now Malfoy looked disgusted. "Figures, doesn't it?"  
  
"What figures, Draco?"  
  
Then Malfoy's eyes gleamed and he taunted: "Now, don't you mean 'young ma - '," but was cut off.  
  
"I say what I mean, Draco!" said Blustovadk rather sharply, her friendly smile merely civil and cold now. "And it sure doesn't seem you're wanted here…" she calmed. "If you don't have anything nice to say, I suggest you go."  
  
Was she an idiot or what? As if Malfoy would just leave because she "suggested" it?  
  
"Hmm, looks like they made you prefect over the mighty Mudblood Granger," mused Malfoy. "They must have felt sorry for the nameless, friendless, penniless orphan."  
  
I glanced at her. She was wearing a prefect badge. "Over me?"  
  
You guessed it.  
  
She was the female Gryffindor fifth-year prefect.  
  
(By the way, Malfoy was made one, too. Is that not revolting?)  
  
I'm prone to agree with him. What could this girl have done to be made prefect over me? It must just be because she's two years older. It must be. And I'm still seeing red. I glared at her furiously.  
  
I don't think she saw. She was glaring at Malfoy. "I doubt it," she said, decidedly cold now. "Draco, please leave."  
  
Malfoy smirked and motioned to Goyle, who stepped forward. They went closer to her, but she stood her ground and faced him calmly.  
  
In a flash, Goyle took her to the ground in a movement and then kicked her very hardly in the shins. When Malfoy and Goyle cleared so I could see her, she was sprawled on the floor with her leg at a very unnatural angle, and she was tight-lipped and pale.  
  
"Draco, go," she commanded quietly - and he went. That voice… Malfoy would do anything she said in that commanding, "I'm-not-playing-nice-anymore" tone.  
  
He left and we went over to help her. She didn't look us in the eye a moment and winced as she put weight on her ankle. Harry helped her sit down on the seat.  
  
"Okay…" she said after a long moment. "Okay. I'm fine. Thank you. I think I can make it to the door now."  
  
"Oh, no you don't," said Harry and Ron together. She was busted up pretty badly.   
  
"Not until Hermione finds a spell to heal that foot," Ron commanded.  
  
I scowled. "Let the mighty prefect figure it out herself," I snarled.  
  
She glanced away. "I was never much good at any healing methods in Defence Against the Dark Arts," she said. "In fact, I was never much good in that class, period. And healing broken bones isn't in a fourth-year's Charms curriculum."  
  
I scowled again pointedly and healed it. Hadn't she read any of our books? And they made _her_ prefect over _me_?  
  
"Thanks," she sighed. "I'll leave you alone now. I'll see you later, I suppose, since I reckon we're classmates."  
  
"Lucky us," I muttered, but Ron and even Harry, who looked strained and impatient, managed friendly goodbyes.   
  
"Teach me that trick for ordering Malfoy about some time," Ron suggested cheerfully. "Please,…?" trailing off as he realized we didn't know her name.  
  
"Sara. Sara Blustovadk, as I guess you figured out."  
  
Blustovadk. Was I the only one who happened to recall that Blustovadk was a Ministry member who was a bachelor?  
  
"Sort of," joked Harry. And then she_ finally_ left.  
  
"Show us the letter," I ordered.  
  
"You were awfully rude to her," Harry pointedly out distractedly as he rummaged for the letter.  
  
"Aw, but Sara was just made a prefect, y'know," Ron teased. I'm sick of him teasing me!   
  
"Here," said Harry quickly while I raised my wand to Ron, wondering which spell would be best to turn him violet.  
  
  
  
_Harry -  
Very quickly, let me say that I do not want you to send me an owl unless it's an emergency for three weeks. Don't hesitate in an emergency, but otherwise, don't. A few bits of unpleasant work are coming up. Thank you, and remember to try and toe the safety line. Say hello to Ron and Hermione for me.  
-- Snuffles  
  
_  
  
"What d'you think he's doing?" asked Ron excitedly.  
  
Harry shrugged. "I don't reckon we're supposed to know. But I'm worried. What if he's not telling me something important? Everyone always tried to shield me. I just want to know if my godfather is doing something that puts him in fatal danger. Is that really too much to want to know?" He broke off suddenly, aware his temper was rising. "Sorry."  
  
"It's okay," I said gently. "You're just strained. Listen, I think Sirius knows you aren't to be coddled any longer. I really do. Trust him for now and blast him later wh - _if_ you find out he's hiding something."  
  
Harry nodded numbly. "Yeah. Thanks. I suppose so. But any ideas? And what about when he gets my latest owl?"  
  
"He'll know you didn't do it on purpose," Ron assured him. "And he might have a really good lead."  
  
We started discussing possible theories as to where Sirius was and who John was. I pulled out my recordings for Bill, gathering all the evidence and conclusions about John. Our greatest theory to this point is that John was an innocent Muggle victim who was taken by You-Know-Who to help his side. We're just not sure what he's doing.  
  
Ron and I were deep in conversation about this - with Ron being a general goof-off and saying little of help - while Harry was flipping through his schoolbooks. I barely noticed when he slipped_ An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration_ away and started skimming our Defence Against the Dark Arts book until he suddenly said: "What if John's a boggart?"  
  
"_What?_" exclaimed Ron.  
  
"I said -"  
  
"I know what you said. And I think you've gone crackers."  
  
"Thank you very much," Harry responded.  
  
"Not a boggart, you idiot," I said, of course, fondly, "not a regular one. But you're right. A really, really powerful one, like a dominion, yes. I don't know why I didn't think of that!"  
  
"A what?" asked Ron.  
  
"Oh, that's what it's called," said Harry lazily.  
  
"A dominion," I said.  
  
"Oh," said Ron, trying to sound like he understood, but failed completely when he said: "And why was John the thing we were most scared of?"  
  
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Listen," I said, remembering he hadn't cracked a book all summer and, unlike Harry, wasn't even flipping through them now. "A regular boggart isn't really powerful enough to really get up and show us the thing we're most scared of. Like that banshee of Parvati's. She isn't most scared of a banshee, for heavens' sakes, or else she's shallower than I thought. She's scared of what it represents. A thing she knows little of except frightening rumors, something she can't defend herself against, and, into the bargain, I'm sure she's terrified of being that ugly."  
  
"What about my spider?" countered Ron. Honestly, he argues just for the sake of arguing!  
  
"You're very scared of spiders in general, and you're experience with Ara-whatever didn't help matters. The bigger, the worse. It also represents your fear of Fred and George's pranks - like turning your," I giggled; Ron reddened, "teddy bear into a spider and whatnot. It also reminds you of the Forbidden Forest, which isn't high on your Likes List, and, into the bargain, it reminds you of the trouble you were in for smashing your dad's car into the Whomping Willow. You did say the car helped you out of that, right? It brings back memories of the whole affair."  
  
"What about your McGonagall?" snickered Ron.  
  
"Shut up," I retorted maturely.  
  
"Or Harry's dementors? That's definitely what he's most scared of; no strings of 'represent' attached."  
  
"Not really," interjected Harry shortly, looking pale. I'm not sure if he's lying or putting on a good front, and when I heard him mutter: "At least, not any more," it only complicated matters.  
  
"Well, so we're _all_ scared of John, then? A joint boggart?" Ron countered.  
  
"A dominion," I responded in exasperation. "They're more powerful and it isn't as easy to scare them off just because there were more than one of us. They're strong enough to combine all our fears into something that represents them _all_ and shows them _all_. Generally dominions don't fool around with representation. They go for the kill - hook, lock, and sinker. For example, if all of us hadn't been there, and it was just me…" I broke off. I didn't want to imagine my parents dead, lifeless… murdered. "It would have been different," I continued briskly. "But the Dominion had to focus on all of us… Harry, did I tell you you're a genius?"  
  
"You just did, Professor Granger." He grinned slightly.  
  
"Pardon me," I snapped.  
  
"No, really," he said quickly to make amends. "I just felt like we were being lectured. Why don't _you_ get the Defence post? You know all of it, you'd be excellent at it, and you know all about the 'triplets'' plan."  
  
We laughed and discussed the Weasley triplets' plan. By the way, it's changed a bit. David Weasley is now a Hufflepuff, as Fred and George realized they have Defence with the Ravenclaws and couldn't have three at them there at the same time without Ployjuice Potion and a willing volunteer, and unless Lockhart has come back they can't fool anyone into thinking at least one Weasley "triplet" is ill or injured every Defence class! Fred said it's all for the best; Hufflepuffs are nearly as good as not as "stuffy". George is setting right to work telling the whole train so everyone knows not to let anything slip. He's spent all the last week making prank-artifacts to bribe Slytherins and "spoilsports" with - can you believe? He's really dedicated to this one, I tell you! I really feel a little sorry for whom-ever-it-is. If it works (s)he going to be really embarrassed. But, oh, well. Really, if they're stupid enough to fall for it, I suppose they deserve it. I _would_ inform a teacher… but as I was not made a prefect, I suppose I just don't have to give that information out, right? Ha. Take that.  
  
I owled Bill the idea as well. Soon and very soon, we'll find out if he and Charlie have any leads on that idea. Harry wants to owl Sirius saying John was only a dominion and not to worry, but, of course, Sirius told him not to. Harry is too worried about Sirius worrying. Am I the only one who sees a paradox here?  
  
We'll be at Hogwarts soon now.  
  
  
August 31, later  
  
  
Ah.  
  
So that's it.  
  
When we got to Hogwarts McGonagall singled me and a few others, Harry included, as well as Ernie Macmillan, Lisa Turpin, and Chelsea Symthe. She took us to the same room she gave me my Time-Turner in and we saw it was now furnished with five writing desks and a reference center. I was so glad Ron was not there to tease me about that room.   
  
She said that even though we had not been made prefects - "due to constraints on the number we can make" - she had something very important for us to do. Start a Correspondence Chain! And not just a Youth one - the actual chain!  
  
Well, it's excellent news, of course, and such an honour, the last student to do it was a seventh-year Slytherin named Marlana Payne, but it's also sort of bad news. See, a Correspondence Chain only starts up when the Dark Side is in power. The Ministry isn't involved directly in this; it's Dumbledore's brainchild.   
  
But we have to go to one meeting tomorrow, and I'm so excited - take that, Sara Blustovadk. You know, Malfoy's probably right; she was only made prefect because they felt sorry for her. When the Weasley twins first saw her, they exclaimed:  
  
"You're back!"  
  
"Aren't you the one to soak Lockhart with Tickling Water? That was splendid; never got a chance to tell you how much we admired that one!"  
  
Honestly. She doused a teacher with Tickling Water and they made her a prefect? Well, they made James Potter Head Boy, which shows you some things are strange at this school, but, really!  
  
Oh, and we saw the Defence teacher! I have to write quick because Parvati and Lavender and Sara are trying to sleep and Parvati's whining about my light, but her name is Professor Drothl. And she's… er… a tad high-strung. And strict. She's tall and thin, but she looks as if she could knock you out with a glare. When we left the Great Hall, Susan Bones tripped and skidded straight into the teacher's tables, and Drothl told her off and took a bunch of points from Hufflepuff in front of the entire Hall! Susan looked absolutely mortified. And then Natalie McDonald, Gretchen Henley, and Delia Thorton, Gryffindor second-years, were blocking her way as we were leaving and she gave them all detention. She's really, really strict, and, of course, Ron is having a field day picking on her. And her fashion sense. I admit, green is not exactly her colour. She's about in her sixties and has a sharp, rather mean face and eyes that would make Snape proud. Snape, of course, glared at her the whole time, as usual. He seemed to regard her capabilities on the same level as Lockhart, like she was just a mosquito to flick away, but she seemed completely oblivious to him. Fred, George, and "David", obviously, pray she really is as incompetent as Lockhart, as they can get away with so much more, but I rather hope she's a good teacher. Even with Lupin and "Moody" (cough!) we're not completely caught up. It's just impossible to fit four years into two, and I don't want to fall further behind. Especially with You-Know-Who around!  
  
Parvati's practically screaming now. She's telling Sara that as prefect, she should stop me. Sara just said: "Being prefect doesn't mean I boss people around and Hermione's light isn't bothering you." Well, she's bothering_ me_. She also reminds me of someone, but it's probably just Harry that put that in my head. We were on the train when he mused: "Does she remind you of someone?" Ron said he was paranoid form all assorted odd people we've met of late and I agree. But now his words are sticking in my head. Oh, she doesn't remind me of anyone, the little creep. Oh, it was really fun when Harry and George had to help her walk to the school because of her ankle. I couldn't heal it of course; I just cleaned it up. And Madam Pomfrey takes on look at her and says: "You're gone two years and you look like a corpse!" Sara nearly died of humiliation. I was rather glad.  
  
Speaking of George, he and Fred traded places continuously tonight. George was going to sit at the Hufflepuff table but in the end Fred became "David" for a night. Fred, supposedly, wasn't feeling well as was in the hospital wing. I hope Drothl doesn't ask Madam Pomfrey about that. They're preparing the Polyjuice Potion now.  
  
Tomorrow's classes and the Correspondence Chain, and come to think of it, I need some sleep!  
  
  
September 1  
  
  
Oh, heavenly, to be back at Hogwarts again. Especially since Crabbe and a few others aren't here. Ernie Macmillian said he almost didn't come this year because his parents think Dumbledore is mad. Seamus says his parents were of a worried mind as well, and then Lavender practically put her arms around him in front of everyone and said: "Oh, thank goodness you didn't leave!" Very amusing. But the empty seats of some of our classmates are reminders that they "times they are a-changin'". Pansy Parkinson's still here - but "Millie" isn't, thank heavens!  
  
In Herbology we're studying bogdolearys. I know for a fact that they tried to bring bogdolearys to the first-years once and only once. Or, at least, I think it's a fact. It's a tale told by Sirius and Lupin, after all. But I'm really glad they made an exception for our class and brought them in last year a little early. They're_ fun_, despite what Ron says!  
  
In Care of Magical Creatures, however… Hagrid has two assistants with him. I'm actually a little glad, but, to be fair to Hagrid, he's getting better and better as time goes on. Towards the end of last year he began to find his groove, after Grubby-Plank brought in the unicorns, and I'm glad for him. But the thing is that Grubby-Plank obviously looks down on Hagrid and Hagrid obviously resents Grubby-Plank. Part of it is that if Hagrid has to do some more "errands" for Dumbledore or if he's arrested for not following the lousy Guidelines of Communication for Non-Humans, Grubby-Plank can fill in. I don't think I'd be too fond of her in that position either. So, yes, Grubby-Plank is one. Luckily, she also works for the Ministry and is some sort of honorary member of the Department for Regulation and Control (shorthanded; can I really be expected to write it all out?) and is active, so if she needs to leave, we also have another assistant. Poor Ron. It's Fleur Delacour. It's unlikely she'll ever teach a class, as most likely Hagrid and Grubby-Plank won't have to leave at the same time. I'm rather surprised. Why on earth is she here? She can't even handle grindylows and I'd think she'd be too worried about getting dirty teaching the Magical Creatures class! But who am I to question Dumbledore?  
  
Hagrid is ready to lash out at them both. He is not a happy camper. Ron and Harry and I are going to visit him to cheer him up soon.  
  
And Arthimancy - good as ever! I still adore Professor Vector, even if she is in cahoots with the triplets…  
  
Which brings us quite nicely to an update on the triplets. Lee Jordan will be consuming large amounts of Polyjuice Potion this year and will pose of all of the Weasley triplets at one point. I didn't ask how they got the Potion. They couldn't prepare it in time and they haven't enough money to buy any… although they did get Ron and Ginny new dress robes somehow. I must say - and I will never pamper Ron's high opinion of himself by saying this to his face - Ron looks mightily good in those dark blue dress robes. But like I said - mum's the word.   
  
In any case, Fred and George had Defence today with the Ravenclaws and Drothl. Drothl, in the words of Fred, "sure isn't trying to win any popularity contests". Fred reported she was mean and nasty and sarcastic and impatient "and Snape probably hates her because she's teaching exactly like he is". Ron paled horribly at these words. Ginny and Jennifer Dawdle nearly fainted when they heard this. However, the seventh-year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws absolutely love this. They spent much of the class asking George loudly if he felt all right and demanding to know how mean old "Davy" could pull such a horrible trick on him! Right in front of Drothl! And she_ fell for it_! Alicia Spinnet was howling in laughter when she emerged from her dormitory. She claimed she spent the whole class trying not to giggle.  
  
And now Fred and George and Lee have grand ideas on how to use "David" to destroy any respect Drothl might dare to gain. Harry looked as though he might suggest how the Marauders used the Sage "triplets" to corrupt their unwanted student counselor but at a sharp glance from me he kept his mouth shut.   
  
Okay, we're going to go visit Hagrid and then - Correspondence Chain!  
  
  
September 3  
  
  
Been way to busy to write. Hagrid's a little touchy about the subject of Fleur and Grubby-Plank but is otherwise in an excellent mood. He dropped hints as to what he did this summer but refused to say it outright.   
  
The Correspondence Chain - is not quite a dream. It's an honour, but it's work. First McGonagall gave us a long lecture, although she promised this was mainly up to us with Fleur Delacour as an "overseer" - _that's_ why they wanted her here, I suppose - but that first she had a few things to say. I was elected a position somewhat like "president" or "captain". (I think Ernie was a bit put out about that.) We listened to a long history of what the CC does - something I knew all about, of course. You know… used to connect the witches and wizards working against the Dark Side in times of official or unofficial Dark Crisis… very important; great responsibility… but the thing that most caught our attention was a magical vow of loyalty and secrecy. The staff had spent a long time deciding whom they could trust. We'll be hearing many secrets, rumors, and things in general that we can't tell _anyone_. Harry looked a little pain. How will we get along keeping some of this a secret from Ron? But we took the vow, of course. We also had to swear we truly believed the Dark Lord was gaining power as we spoke and that we would do anything, anything to help, especially in light of the CC. We had to swear ourselves to the Order of the Phoenix and be willing to take Albus Dumbledore's word in all matters. _All _matters. Like when McGonagall mentioned some of the people outside of Hogwarts who would be key players in this, one of them was Charles Rossington.  
  
"That old Refrudian prat…" Chelsea scowled.  
  
McGonagall glanced at her sharply. "He's an ally of the Order of the Phoenix and on our side. He's a respected authour and very dedicated to this group. He is a new member the same as yourself who has vowed loyalty. Any other objections, Miss Smythe?"  
  
Chelsea shook her head, looking rather ashamed of yourself. She's a bit more open-minded then some Slytherins we all know and love… to hate.  
  
Ernie MacMillian was the one who really got it, when McGonagall added Lupin to that list.  
  
"_Him?_" Ernie cried, and I was strongly reminded of our second year when he thought Harry was attacking everyone.  
  
McGonagall gave him the same sharp glance as Chelsea, but, unlike Chelsea, he didn't appear remotely abashed. "Professor Lupin kept the Correspondence Chain alive - no exaggeration - during the Dark Lord's last rising during a time when it was a most thankless task and kept it firmly up until a Dark Calamity was declared. Even afterward, he worked to assure that trustworthy, capable people were running it well and has a reputation for training the younger members. Any objections, Macmillan?"  
  
Ernie didn't; out loud, anyway. He nodded gloomily, but you don't dare defy Professor McGonagall. Although when she also said "Grace Zambia", I think he was ready to have a tantrum. Actually, McGonagall didn't look too thrilled either. I think Zambia was the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher during the greater part of the Marauder's years here, and according to the material, no one really liked her.  
  
And then we had to start on this huge mountain of letters, paperwork, files, clippings, and reports. We still had to get everything in order from the last time this had been used, fourteen years ago. Ernie had the nerve to say - whispering, but still in McGonagall's presence - "Yeah, Lupin kept it up and put capable people in charge, did he?"  
  
"If you want to question the work of Marlana Payne and Mavis Johnson, I'd be glad to fetch them for you, MacMillian," McGonagall said in a too-bright voice. "You could even bring the complaint up to Professor Lupin right now. Still a problem?"  
  
Ernie didn't need to check out the window to see that moon was full and to know that Marlana Payne was risking her life right now trying to track down Sirius Black, supposedly a supporter of You-Know-Who, and that she had a sharp, sharp tongue. He sure wasn't about to argue.  
  
Speaking of which, McGonagall has gotten wonderfully sarcastic over the summer. That wasn't the only remark she made that had us flinching. She's been spending too much time with Snape, I think.  
  
Speaking of Snape, he looks really awful. He's very pale and I've noticed he barely eats anything at meals now. If he's taken up the position as spy, it's probably no wonder. He's just as biting as ever, though, according to Ginny, who had Potions with him yesterday. As much as I don't like him, I really hope he holds up, and not just because our lives may be in his hands. It's because that no one really deserves to have to go through all that, living every day in that much fear and strain. No one. Not even Snape.   
  
Back to… where was I?… Ernie MacMillian. No matter what I suggested, he didn't like it. No matter what I proposed, he rejected it. No matter what I asked, he had a sarcastic answer to. Well, I'm exaggerating. Only part of the time. But it did get somewhat annoying. And it's rather tiresome getting six opinionated people to agree on the same thing. Fleur Delacour is the tiebreaker vote. Honestly. And it's intimidating, all this work… very, very scary, almost. Harry and Lisa soon muttered something about having horrible headaches. My ears are ringing. And we barely got everything accomplished, in my eyes. And … we got to do this three times a week for the rest of the year… or if we defeat You-Know-Who. Along with homework. Along with Harry's Quidditch practices.  
  
So, while I'm definitely enthusiastic… it's exhausting.  
  
So I think I'll do my Transfiguration homework and get some sleep.  
  



	6. In Which Hermione Neglects Her Education...

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry this took so long! I couldn't log in! Luckily, I just managed to tongiht and had the chapter all written out. This chapter is sort of a fill in. The next -- which is in my head but not written -- has yet another subplot opening. As to my faithful reviewers... well, none of the stuff I threatened is happening, thanks to you. Anyone who reads and doesn't review owes their enternal gratatude to you for keeping our characters alive. (Just kidding. They would have stayed alive anyway. Just miserable -- whoops, just kidding again!) -- Rheanna**  


  
September 7  
  
Whew… has it been a week?… I'm exhausted. And half of us - "us" being fifth-year Gryffindors and the CC - are snapping and lashing out at each other.   
  
Harry is going bonkers over Sirius's last letter, er, note. It is annoying: Sirius says he knows precisely who John is - or at least as much as anyone else does - even if not personally, and he will explain it all as soon as he can, and would Harry please owl him the instant he sees John again?  
  
What? Is John following us? What's WITH this?  
  
Quidditch tryouts are coming up. A new Keeper is needed as well as… a new Chaser. Angelina Johnson was in her seventh-year last year. No wonder she looked a little confused when Harry asked her about her birthday. Ron keeps on joking that I should try out. Ha! But, actually, I'm a bit insulted that he is so sure I wouldn't stand a chance. Perhaps I should show up and do really well just to make his jaw drop and show him I am more than Hermione Granger, Know-It-All.  
  
But, the idea of doing more than I am is scaring even me. The homework is pretty thick, the CC takes up so much time it's not even amusing, and then there's my writing, which, may I remind you, I vowed to keep doing. Luckily, my ideas and ambition for it have not run dry. My time has. Poor Jinni of _Fiddle Girl_ has been knocked out since last the second week of August now.   
  
And then, of course, classes. Hagrid, Grubby-Plank, and Fleur are still on Kzeals, little golden monkey like things that Lavender absolutely adores. They are pretty cute and really magical. But, of course, Lavender's group has the friendly, good-natured one. The one Ron, Harry, Neville and I have is moody, temperamental, and very energetic. It's called "Bloody". Well, that seems to be what Ron calls it. Its real name is Beatrice. Ron also says it's a "stupid name". Well, I'm not too fond of it myself. Beatrice adores Neville, and for some odd reason, Ron. The feeling does not seem to be mutual on Ron's part, but Neville loves Beatry. Beatry, however, doesn't seem to like Harry and I, much to our combined exasperation and amusement.  
  
In Astronomy we're doing Darwin, the solar system three away from ours.** *A/N: I figure wizards have this whole thing mapped out more than we do, okay?*** It has three planets, which isn't as much as most of the ones we've been studying, but about a "gazillion" moons to each planet we've got to memorize. (The estimate is Ron's, not mine, thank you very much.) There's also a billion or so regular comets there, so it'll take a while.   
  
Then there's Arthimancy. I'm glad Ron isn't here to complain about this class, I really am. He'd be howling and whining and moaning and I'd have to use the Curse of Bogies on him.   
  
In Charms we tried getting into Climatic Charms. One little thing. If used on people, Climatic Charms are technically curses, and for some reason I'm not completely comfortable with that.   
  
Curses bring us nicely to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which we had today. Oh, boy. Remember how I hinted she might be a tad strict and sarcastic? Well, I'm absolutely right.   
  
Harry and Ron made the huge mistake of being late. Not a good idea. I have no clue what they were up to; they didn't say and I'm a tad put out about that. Drothl nearly cut their heads off with a shilling.  
  
"Ten points each from Gryffindor."  
  
Harry glanced at the clock; they were precisely one minute late. "But -"  
  
"Sit, please, Potter. Don't try to get cheeky. I know exactly who you got that from."  
  
I gaped at her a moment as she said this coolly, almost offhandedly, as if living a memory and letting it slip. Few others seemed to have caught the reference. Drothl went on without missing a beat.  
  
"Now that you have all decided to come, we'll start. We'll do the basics. I'm Professor Drothl, and that's D-R-O-T-H-L, pronounced 'droth-oul'. That's it, and I don't want to hear it misprounced all year, got it? Good. Now that we understand each other, get out a sheet of parchment."  
  
"Sensitive about her name," chuckled Sara Blustovadk, who was sitting by Parvati and Lavender mainly because I glared at her as she approached.  
  
"Yours is 'Blustovadk', you should talk," I snapped. Sara paled for some reason. It doesn't take a genius to know Blustovadk isn't her real name.  
  
"Good. Now, this class is ridiculously far behind. I'll not have you causing trouble. There isn't time. Do you realize you're about to take O.W.L.s at the end of this year and only know a fourth of the material? Do you realize that so far you've had one Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, besides me, who actually had a teaching lisence, and that he worked for the Dark Lord? Not a good state of affairs, brought about by necessity. I'll warn you right now that you haven't just got a baby-sitter during this class anymore. I'm here to teach, thank you."  
  
"Then get on with it," Ron muttered. I glared. Drothl didn't seem to be doing all that bad. So she was business-like. Goodness knows that after a year of our other lisenced teacher, that's a relief. She hit the nail on the head; Quirrel was nothing more than a baby-sitter.   
  
That's when she started talking of Kapykoae. This was supposed to be the best lesson of the year. Kapykoae is horrible but fascinating, the curse of changing feelings and emotions.   
  
And perhaps it was the late CC meeting the night before, but Ron is insistent that it was Drothl's droning on… and on…  
  
I feel asleep. Right in the middle of class.  
  
I hadn't done that since the year with the Time-Turner, and this time it was even more humiliating, because this was Drothl and not Flitwick.  
  
"Miss Granger!"  
  
I snapped to attention, everything fuzzy from sleep. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yes," commanded Drothl.  
  
"Yes," I repeated, still somewhat confused. Ron and Harry were smirking.  
  
"Ten points from Gryffindor."  
  
I think those are her favorite words. "Why?"  
  
She glared at me like I was being stupid on purpose. Ron spoke up: "But she's tired because she was helping defend against Dark Arts last night, Professor Drothl."  
  
Drothl nearly strangled Ron on the spot. "Weasley, that's no excuse for neglecting your education like Miss Granger seems to be doing."  
  
The class roared in laughter, causing Drothl to take a point off for everyone who laughed, which shut us all up pretty quickly. Even I giggled. Yes, I have a lighthearted side, thanks. But she was livid that we were laughing.   
  
"Honestly, Weasley, I had enough of this with your brothers!" she fumed. "And Blustovadk, I don't want to hear it, no one in your position should be laughing!" We all glanced at her oddly. "And you, Longbottom! When you can perform one countercurse correctly, you may giggle all you want then! Patil, you shouldn't laugh as I have no clue which twin you are, and Brown, perhaps if you stopped being such a prissy prig you might pass this class with an acceptable grade."  
  
Silence.  
  
Honestly, I think this woman stays up at night thinking up insults.  
  
Well, from now on I don't think I can enjoy Kapykoae. She pretty much ruined it for me right there, but really, the class got no better. But Ron! You should have heard him go on! Finally I snapped at him it was Drothl's job to make us learn certain things, not be nice - and from the look on his and Harry's face, you wouldn't thought I had said… I loved Draco Malfoy or something!  
  
Sheesh!  
  
  
September 13  
  
  
Ooh, Ron's so jealous… the CC gets to go to Hogsmeade a few Saturdays from now… it's mainly a business trip and to meet some senior members, but, still, we get to go - and Ron can't. In fact, he's very put out about it. I told him if he and Harry told me where they were when they were late for Defence our first class I'd tell him what happens in Hogsmeade. He just laughed and said: "Oh, you'll tell me anyway, you know you will." Of all the nerve…!  
  
The biggest problem with the CC is that You-Know-Who hasn't even attacked any Muggles for nearly a month - or at least none we can prove - and few seem to believe he's back. And will they take the words of a bunch of teenagers, or even listen to us if they do?   
  
Bill thought Harry's dominion (John) theory was "interesting, and no worse than the rest we have". He also says the Ministry keeps a count of all the dominions, as they're rather rare, and he's checking it now. I want to tell him that Sirius seems to know John but really can't. So I took matters into my own hands and did some research on an English Muggle scholar named John. The only thing is that there are a lot of English Muggle scholars named John. Also, Madam Pince is looking at me oddly, as if wondering what on earth I'm doing.  
  
Daddy sent me a - guest what - story for my birthday! Really! I mean, one he wrote - just since I've left for Hogwarts! I thought it was really sweet. And Mummy renewed my subscription to _Time_, and Harry and Ron got me a mahogany little box for that teeny tree I got in Bulgaria. I raved about it, and they actually remembered - I almost fainted; they had spent the whole time telling me to "shut up" - well, okay, exaggeration, but something close to that. They also got me a metal thingie that tells what sort of metal something is, since I couldn't tell what the tree was. The only problem is that it doesn't work. Ron reddened to the roots of his hair when it couldn't tell us.  
  
"Er, well, the one on display did!" he defended himself. I rolled my eyes, smiled, and told him it didn't matter. Ginny got a magical mouse for Crookshanks. Crookshanks can chase it and rip it to shreds but it'll always heal so we don't have to keep getting new ones.  
  
I like having friends.  
  
Oh, and Fred and George? Good question. A Five-Galleon Gift Certificate for the Weasley Wizard Wheezes.  
  
The problem is, I was really happy about it.  
  
  
September 17  
  
  
Uh-oh. Last night there was serious vandalism in Hogsmeade. It's said that an older house was ransacked and then destroyed, basically. The owner was a woman named Nicole Skylark, and she was reportedly rather calm and composed about it. And then the windows of a house owned by Elsie Wincock were broken. No one knows exactly what this is a sign of… the Daily Prophet said it's just "a prank", but, of course, over in the CC we're going crackers and getting very worried. Just a prank! More like a warning. There's an extra meeting in fifteen minutes, even though we met for the last two nights as well.  
  
What could this mean?  
  
  
September 19  
  
  
Well, our Hogsmeade trip is in serious trouble. Fleur kept sniffing on how us young ones shouldn't been taking risks in a village with recent Dark Activity. I almost wanted to scream there's no proof it was Dark Activity, only we all know it was, because a report came two evenings ago, right after I wrote, from Jacel Lovegood that his house had a Dark Mark painted on the side of his house.  
  
Scary. Ginny goes around looking frightened but resolute. Fred, George - and David - go around making more noise than ever. Ron is a bit snappish, and Harry's a bit pale, but both have this determined glint I don't like in their eyes. I told them not to do anything foolish, and then reminded myself whom I was talking to. Lavender and Parvati talk nonstop about it and say the stupidest things - and Sara Blustovadk just looks quietly thoughtful. Lisa Turpin looks rather blank, but a blank that's hiding a lot of thought. Chelsea Smythe… well… I haven't noticed. Ernie MacMillian looks on edge. And Fleur, of course, just looks haughty… but rather pale, come to think of it.  
  
Hagrid was amazingly comforting, saying what he said last year - modified a little. "Well, it's come," he said, resigned. "And now we meet it." Then he beamed at the three of us. "And you (or "yeh") two're working with the Correspondence Chain, and Ron, you're helping every chance you get, and keeping yourselves busy with study… I'm proud, I will say."  
  
Hagrid sometimes seems a bit simple, but that man is far from stupid. He's very wise, actually, even if he doesn't strike you that way at first, and despite whatever Malfoy says. Malfoy, by the way, looks quite lopsided now, with only one of the things attached to his hip around.  
  
Oh, and Quidditch! How could I forget? I was just about to stop writing! But, Quidditch - I can't forget. Alicia Spinnet is the captain this year. Tryouts are going to be in a few days. Harry's training constantly. I think he's trying to make up for all of last year and doing extra-some for this year as well, which leaves him with zip time for, well, schoolwork. But I think he's trying to find himself again flying around up there and concentrating on his passion, so I'm letting him go for a few weeks 'til he comes 'round.  
  
  
September 24  
  
  
All sorts of rumors are flying - awful pun - as to who's trying out for the Quidditch team! Here are the titles, rumor, thoughts, and my rating on accuracy:  
  
**Ronald Weasley: Gryffindor Keeper.** Apparently, Ron is trying out for Keeper and has been training in secret since last year. My thoughts: He didn't have time last year… but I can easily see him trying out. Accuracy Scale: (1 - 10): 5.  
**David Weasley: Gryffindor Chaser.** Apparently, Davy's trying out for Chaser. My thoughts: HULLO!! There IS no Davy Weasley, may I remind everyone?! I think everyone's FORGETTING this! HA! Unless it's Lee Jordan… but how to fool Dumbledore and the teachers, sans Drothl? And when he's a commentator? Accuracy Scale: Negative Ten.  
  
**Colin Creevey: Gryffindor Chaser/Keeper.** Rumor is that Colin is taking a stab at it. My thoughts: Well, if he's good enough, good luck to him! Harry's thoughts: PLEASE, NO!! Accuracy Scale: 6 ½, since Colin hasn't confirmed it yet.  
  
**Natalie McDougall: Gryffindor Chaser. **Natalie's a nice, bright second-year who's Muggle-born and apparently an orphan raised by her older brother. My thoughts: I'd love to see her do well. She's okay. Accuracy Scale: She hasn't confirmed it and was a little surprised when she heard… 4 1/2.  
**Dana Ronsably: Gryffindor Chaser**. Dana is the roommate of Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet. My thoughts: I think what I said before explains how this rumor got started. Dana's quiet and mousy and I doubt she'd think of it. She's happy to let her classmates get the spotlight. Accuracy Scale: 1.  
**  
Shawna Kisubo: Gryffindor Keeper.** Shawna is a fifth-year, madly in love with Fred. My thoughts: She'd be okay if she can keep her eyes on the Quaffle, not Fred! Accuracy Scale: 6.  
  
**Rodney Grids, Gryffindor Keeper.** A sixth-year… hmm… doesn't seem to be a lot of Keeper hopefuls, eh? My thoughts: I think he'll get it based on lack on competition! Accuracy Scale: Nearly everyone says he admitted to it, but since I didn't hear him, a 9.  
  
**Candy Whitehall, Gryffindor Chaser.** Candy's mother was a Quidditch star at Hogwarts for Gryffindor. Candy's a fourth-year ready to do anything and everything to prove herself and has openly announced this. My thoughts: I think she's a bit big-headed. Accuracy Scale: 10.  
  
**Sara Blustovadk: Gryffindor Chaser/Keeper.** This is a rumor from the sixth-year girls. My thoughts: Really? I don't even think she owns a broomstick, and if she does, it's not a good one. I never saw her fly before. Accuracy Scale: 2, since I have not heard Sara say it… in fact, she's denying it.  
  
**Jason Leffler: Gryffindor Chaser/Keeper.** A seventh-year who has admitted to this openly and matter-of-factly. My thoughts: We need ONE calm person on that team! Accuracy Scale: 10.  
  
**Freddy Granet: Gryffindor Chaser.** A third-year desperate to prove himself. My thoughts: I sort of doubt he will. Accuracy Scale: 6.  
  
**Neville Longbottom: Gryffindor Keeper. **This was an amusing rumor started up for laughs and has Neville very upset. My thoughts: It's cruel. Accuracy Scale: 2.  
  
**Hermione Granger: Gryffindor Chaser/Keeper. ** Hmm. I wonder how this started? Apparently Hermione Granger has a yearn to play Quidditch. My thoughts: Sorry. Accuracy Scale: Less than even David Weasley.  
  
September 27  
  
Oh, boy! Dumbledore said our CC visit to Hogsmeade is still on! Yay!   
  
I'm writing right now as Quidditch tryouts are on. I'm in the stands next to Ginny, who is scribbling away in her (unenchanted) diary as well. Ooh - Candy Dresiegner just made a really impressive loop and got past the Keeper! It was really good… maybe she will be okay…   
  
… Let's see… Sara is looking pathetic. Alicia asked her if she was trying out and she shook her head and said she like to, but she hadn't a broom and those school ones would never do for tryouts… Alicia convinced her to try, and now she's making a complete fool of herself. She just got in the air a second or two ago… Malfoy would have a field day with her right now…  
  
Ron did try out! He's going for Keeper and is looking pretty good… I really, really hope he does well… so his self-esteem can get going…  
  
Ginny thought of trying out but for some reason came to me yesterday and said quietly that she didn't want to anymore and refused to say anything else about it. I'm a little worried about her…  
  
Whoops, Shawna just fell out of the air! Sara passed her a - I admit - excellent shot, and she misjudged it, and now Shawna's burning red. Poor girl, she's shy, it took a lot of courage to come… they're fixing her up now… Sara's out of the air already… she's talking to Alicia… seems a bit angry… she's leaving. Ha. Lasted two minutes. Although, I have to admit, it took real courage to try out on that old thing. So I feel a bit bad for her. A bit.  
  
Candy is swooping around like crazy, and then she'll suddenly get very calm and focused. Ginny joked that it was making her dizzy.  
  
Anyway, the Hogsmeade weekend… another reason it was debatable was that it was the same weekend as the Muggle Appreciation Fair, meaning there's a Muggle-like fair set up, with displays and stands and such. I heard it's really a spectacle, and it would be fascinating to see… but Fleur Delacour! Oh, no, ze poor lit'le chil'ren musn't go! Oh, no! Because if the "pranksters" - snort - plan to strike again, they'll almost certainly strike during a Muggle Fair, of course, in protest. But in the end we get to go, only it's now on a Friday, a day before the Fair. Ah, well, good enough, and we still get to attend the very important meeting. Shivers.  
  
Jason Leffler's doing very well. Harry, Katie, Fred, and Alicia are talking to each other lowly, and when they glance at Jason they all nod. I think he'll probably make the team.  
  
Ron… well… Ron's being… Ron. He's actually a good flier - being a Weasley; it's in his genes - but whenever the nerves kick in the acceleration in the broom does as well, and, as Keeper, that does not go over well.  
  
Oh, Alyn wrote today. That's his fourth letter. Apparently he's at a university like school in Bulgaria. He tells the funniest things and ridicules his classmates and teachers mercilessly - but not in a bad way, just a "well-I-have-a-sense-of-humor" way. I've written back a few times, even though it feels odd. I mean, he addresses me "Miss Hermione" and then writes basically entertainment letters, but it's getting less and less formal and friendlier. I'm really glad he wrote.  
  
Wait… where's George? He's… oh; he's back now. Hmm. He seems to be a little quiet lately. I wonder what's going on with him. He's always been slightly mellower than Fred, but not by much.  
  
It's sort of odd, though; there hasn't been a reporting of a Muggle killing in a while. I hope it's not the calm before the storm… and I really hope no one attacks Hogsmeade while we're there. I -  
  
Oh, no - here comes Colin Creevey, and he's asked to talk to Ginny! Whoa! Now, we all happen to know Ginny likes Harry, and that David Stebbins of Hufflepuff, in Ginny's year, protégée of the Weasley twins, likes Ginny. Is there another dimension being added to her love life?   
  
Ginny, slightly pink, has left. Oh, I feel stupid here by myself. There's Lisa Turpin… perhaps we can talk. I happen to know she tried out for the Ravenclaw team last night.  
  
***So, what horrors and adventures await our CC at Hogsmeade? (What? You really think it'll be uneventful?) And who'll make the Gryffindor Quidditch team? When will someone tell Hermione to lay off on Sara Blustovadk? (Don't worry, someone does. A certain Ravenclaw team hopeful, to be precise...) And how does Alyn work in? (No one's too attached to him, are they? I mean, he gets a happy ending, but before the dust settles... *glances around anxiously*) Review and I might tell you! :-)**  
  
  
  



	7. A Muggle Concert

October 1  
  
Honestly, if some people's lives depended on making the Quidditch team… well, it often seems that way…  
  
Jason Leffler is Gryffindor Keeper, and Candy Dresiegner is the third Chaser. Reverses are: Keeper: Ron Weasley. (Yay!) Chaser: Natalie MacDougall. (Goody!) Ron was slightly put out. You know how much he wants to prove himself. I pointed out that next year he will most likely be Keeper because Jason will be gone. But he really cheered up when I said he flew really well and I think he'd do just as well as Jason.   
  
Harry is upbeat and optimistic when Quidditch comes up. Since Sirius hasn't written, the rest of the time he's withdrawn and moody. But he says Gryffindor has a good chance at the Cup. He started spouting off the members of the other teams, but I didn't hear him very well. I don't really care about Quidditch unless it's Gryffindor or Viktor. Otherwise… who needs it, really?  
  
We're having a hard time convincing people to prepare for You-Know-Who in the CC mainly because we're just a bunch of kids. Recognizable ones, too. Ernie comes from an old magic family, same as Chelsea, and I'm slightly known because of my abnormal marks. It gets around Ministry circles, the more talented students. But it's Harry and Lisa who are really tip-offs. Lisa's parents were well-known Quidditch commentators when they were at school and so a lot of people remember the popular Turpins and know they have a daughter named Lisa. This also works to our advantage at times, because they think Lisa is her mum, who has the same name. But mostly it's a burden. And then Harry… well, he's Harry. It sort of gives it all away.  
  
So we're hoping that meeting some of the senior members gives us a chance to prove we're capable kids and that the senior members will offer more support after a face-to-face with Dumbledore. Ron, of course, is wildly jealous that Harry and I get to go to Hogsmeade. I told him that it's no big deal, it's a business trip, but then of course Chelsea had to speak up and say that half the time we have to ourselves. Ron glowered. Then I assured him he'll have plenty of chances later this term -  
  
"Oh, right, with all the panic over there? Right."  
  
Isn't he the cheerful little optimist?  
  
  
October 5  
  
  
Well, well, well, well. Guess what I'm doing? I'm attending a Beatles concert!   
  
Ha! Okay, that's an exaggeration. But I'm at a concert with Beatles music - go figure - in Hogsmeade. The Muggle Fair does cause… interesting changes.  
  
Well, here's what happened. It was pretty normal, except Professor McGonagall came with us, and we got into the carriages, etc. And, of course, it was a lot smaller. Professor McGonagall kept throwing Ernie warning looks, which was sort of funny.   
  
Of course, we got here, and the instructions were: "You can use this as a regular visit until three o'clock. Meet us at the Three Broomsticks, and be there early, not late."  
  
Ha.  
  
Anyway, we went around for a while. All these people were setting up somewhat Muggle-like stands. Except, however, for one man, who was offering demonstrations in controlled mind effects, otherwise known as Refrudian magic. Soon a few couples who lived in Hogsmeade thanked him and left, and he turned to us kids in the CC. We were all really eager to try this. For one, the greatest thing in the others' minds was: "We can do Refrudula magic over the holidays and not get in trouble!" My thought was more of: "Wow! That's such a wonderful learning experience!" In other words, something new but same old story.  
  
The man, whom was called Mr. Donohue - Harry glanced at him suspiciously at the name - asked for a volunteer. Naturally, we all wanted to. He smiled and said we'd all get a chance and chose Lisa and me. Our job? To pick up a rock with no hands and no wands. Ernie sarcastically mentioned kicking it, and then the order was changed to "no contact whatsoever".  
  
Chelsea simply laughed out loud. "But that's impossible, and Lisa and Hermione hasn't been studying Refrudula things for years and years - well, it's a Ravenclaw and Hermione, but I still doubt it. Have you?"  
  
"No, I never did any before," I said, a little stiffly. Lisa shook her head.  
  
"That's fine," Donohue assured us. "Contrary to popular belief, if you're not too worried as of yet about theory and property and such, it's not very difficult."  
  
Everyone glanced at him unbelievingly. To most of us from the Hogwarts line, magic like that they teach at Refrudula is sort of like how Muggles view our magic. "Right," Ernie nodded.  
  
"Miss Granger, are you Muggle-born?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Excellent. Did you have any knowledge whatsoever of the magical world before you received your Hogwarts letter?"  
  
I thought for a moment. "I don't know, sir… it's somewhat difficult to say. Certainly I never really thought of it as clearly as it is… but what child doesn't believe Muggle fairy tales for a time? And later, when I grew out of those, I sometimes felt that magic was the only logical explanation for some things… but magic is so illogical in the Muggle world, so I concluded that if magic did exist, it wasn't as in fairy tales, but something very developed and even modernized, as I have now found it is."  
  
Everyone except Mr. Donohue blinked. He paused for a moment as well but continued without batting an eye as obviously. "Well, do you remember the very first time you tried your wand, probably at Mr. Ollivander's?"  
  
I nodded vigorously. Did I ever!   
  
"Recall as clearly as possible the very instant, the warmth in your hand, the sudden feeling of power rushing through you to meet the wand, the feeling that something you had been missing all your life came to you?"  
  
I nodded again. He had it exactly right. "I think I remember the feeling."  
  
"Think harder. You have to have this down good."  
  
I closed my eyes. I could practically see myself grabbing that moment, and I felt as if I had. I kept them closed as Donohue continued. "You remember now. Now keep in mind that you had magic in you all your life. The wand is an Anchor. Many things can be an Anchor, but that's for a different time. Anchors help you control your magic. Of course, they do not automatically do it themselves. You have to help them. The Anchor can't do anything without a Source - which is you. But you can work without an Anchor, if you're in touch with your magic, since that's all the Anchor does - help you connect with your magic. But you can control your magic on your own. Are you in touch with it?"  
  
I concentrated a moment. "I am."  
  
"Pick up the rock, Miss Granger. Force all of yourself and all of your magic to pick up that rock."  
  
I stared at the rock, willing it to arise. Suddenly, slowly but surely, it did.   
  
It rose! I was doing Refrudian magic! I could have screamed with happiness. As it was, my gasp and suddenly joy broke my concentration, and the rock fell to the ground with a thud. Everyone in the CC was cheering, and Mr. Donohue grinned broadly. "Excellent, Hermione! That was awfully quick." I felt myself beaming… and I hate to say it, but when it took Lisa three tries to my one, I felt a little smug. But… well… I got to feel good about myself, don't I? That's one of the sayings of Alyn's calendar… "The wicked are wicked because they were once insecure." Even if it is embarrassing to admit I was that smug. And then Harry and Chelsea and Ernie tried it. Harry grabbed it after the fourth try, Chelsea after the eighth, and Ernie after the tenth. No one could believe how fast it was! It was always rumoured that you have to study for years and years to do the slightest thing!  
  
"You do have to study and train for years and years," Mr. Donohue informed us warningly. "Doing the magic is one thing. Controlling it and understanding it is another. That's one of the reasons that years ago, when those who primarily practiced Anchor-magic and those who mainly relied on mind-magic lived peacefully, that wand-magic was favoured. Mind-magic takes a lot out of you when you do a lot of it. Little things like this, after the first few times won't affect you in the least. But it's a good idea not to rely on this heavily unless you get proper training."  
  
I asked about the Anchors, and what else they could be.  
  
"Well, anything that can be used for the core of a wand is a Anchor - dragon heartstrings and the like. Making it into a wand is a good idea, though, since if it's just a raw Anchor, it can be too dangerously powerful. Wand-makers have to be very careful while dealing with them. That's why most Anchors we used come from natural things that are then handled by humans. Certain other raw materials - diamond, for instance - can be worked into one of the Shapes. There's a Shape for healing and curing, one for defence, one for protection, barriering, beauty, transformating… a few others I don't recall."  
  
Is that not incredible? I then asked - demanded, Harry joked - why we hadn't learned about that yet. Donohue smiled, even though Chelsea was a bit annoyed with my questions. Too bad. Harry and Ernie and Lisa were all hanging onto the answers nearly as raptly as I was.   
  
"You will, in your seventh year. However, unless you are going to be working with Wards or Anchors in trade, it's not considered necessary for you to know about all that. Refrudula, however, has a special class for this."  
  
"But they cut out things like Divination and Defence and Transfiguration to work those special classes in," Ernie pointed out.  
  
"Like we're learning so much in Divination and Defence anyway," Chelsea shot back.   
  
"I'm learning how to pass a class while half-asleep the whole time," Harry offered sardonically.  
  
We practiced a bit more and thanked Donohue, ready to go on (even while Chelsea thought up some great plots to use on Filch that involved Refrudian magic). Harry lagged behind.  
  
"Harry?" I asked.  
  
"I want to ask Lupin something," Harry replied.  
  
I blinked, glanced at Donohue, and grinned to myself. I had been fooled. Harry and I waited for the rest of the class to leave.  
  
"Mr. Potter?" Lupin asked, scooping up the particular rock.  
  
"Nice act, but it didn't work. _Jack Donohue_, Remus?"  
  
"How'd you figure that out?"  
  
"You were the same man who tried to connect Grunnings Drills with Product HQ eight years ago, weren't you? It was Jack Donohue then, too."  
  
"Good memory. Don't tell Professor Dumbledore, please. I hadn't _intended_ to be the one to deal with your uncle." (I can just _see _his crossed fingers. He's a little reticent, but he obviously cares about Harry. Sometimes I wonder if Dumbledore warned him not to interfere when Harry was sent to his aunt and uncle.)  
  
"Where'd you get that name?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think it sounded to convincing eight years ago, either."  
  
"Your mother."  
  
Harry glanced at him. "What?"  
  
"It was the Christmas of our first year. Lily and I were the only ones in our House and year to stay behind, and as Lily had some last-minute shopping to do, I broke all sorts of pacts and brought her to Hogsmeade, pretending we lived here and were ten years old in case we were questioned. She was Gwen Donohue. We passed for cousins."  
  
Harry was silent a moment, considering this. I was still trying to work this out. He was just about to ask something when Lupin continued: "Snuffles is here, but I don't think you'll be able to talk with him today. We'll be at that CC meeting, though." I was about to speak when he continued: "No, in dog form. Not too many in the Chain know of that, although we're going to reveal it soon."  
  
I felt uneasy about that. Purely so I wouldn't say something that would cause Harry to think I was acting too stuffy, I said, "Nice Appearance-Altering Charms."  
  
"Ironically, they're not taught at Refrudula," Lupin grinned.  
  
"They're not?" asked Harry, blinking. That's supposed to be a very important part of our sixth-year education.  
  
"No, not them and Silencing Charms. Refrudula calls them deceitful, saying they're only used to hide things."  
  
"No kidding," Harry scoffed. "Can I talk to Si-Snuffles soon?"  
  
"Eventually." Lupin sighed. "Trust me, I'm trying to arrange this as much as you want it to be, if only to get Snuffles from driving me insane." But he didn't look put out at all over this fact. "And you have every right to do so."  
  
"What have you two been doing?" Harry pressed further.  
  
"Can't say here," I supplied when Lupin hesitated.   
  
"Exactly."  
  
Harry was looking a little put out. I don't blame him, but that's the way circumstances go.  
  
"You know where he's going to be, though? There's going to be a woman named Nicole Skylark singing. Snuffles'll be there."  
  
"He will?" I asked, sort of surprised.  
  
"We had a friend once who was very musically inclined. We haven't got it out of our systems, and Snuffles is dying to see a performance again. Certainly can't blame him."  
  
"Will you be there?" Harry continued. He was on one of his inquisitive turns.   
  
Lupin hesitated. "Maybe. I'm not sure. It's still too risky here. Too many people recognize me. I would suggest you two and the rest go, though. Miss Skylark is an excellent singer."  
  
We followed his advice and persuaded Lisa, Chelsea, and Ernie to do the same. Lisa was lit up and eager about the whole affair. Chelsea and Ernie weren't too put out, either, somewhat curious as to what Muggle music sounded like. Harry and I tried to tell them, but we weren't really sure what sort Nicole Skylark would be performing and therefore weren't of much help in informing them.  
  
We passed a few booths, and since I'm pressed for time won't go into them, and found Nicole Skylark. She had a makeshift stage set up and several instruments and a microphone. We headed over and said we heard she was singing today and that Mr. Donohue had recommended her.  
  
"I'll have to thank him if I see him," Miss Skylark said in a musical but clear voice that was very pretty. Ernie was blushing - Miss Skylark was fairly young, and although her brown hair and eyes weren't stunning, her looks combined with her voice and slim figure were enough to set his hormones off. Sheesh! "Are you from the school - the Correspondence Chain?"  
  
We weren't really sure if we should reveal this, but obviously she knew, so we nodded and introduced ourselves. "What sort of music are you performing, Miss Skylark?" I asked - and then blushed. I didn't know if she was married or not.  
  
Ernie, blast him, added helpfully: "At least, you're not married, right?"  
  
I wanted to smack him!  
  
Miss Skylark grinned. "No." Chelsea gave Ernie a teasing look. "You can call me Nicole, if it'll make things easier. And it's Muggle, of course - nearly everything here is Muggle today - and it's mostly older stuff. The Beatles, the Kinks, the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Animals, Elton John… that crowd. I mean, for now, it's all Beatle."  
  
"The Who?" asked Ernie.  
  
"It's a band," I explained patiently. "He's Muggle-born," I added, for Miss Skylark's benefit.  
  
She smiled softly. "I see. There's as many odd names for Muggle bands as wizarding, Mr. Macmillian. And some of the ones in America! Lynyrd Skynyrd, for instance. They named it after a teacher, Leonard Skinner, who had given them detention because their hair was too long."   
  
"You seem to know your Muggle bands," Lisa commented. (Even Harry and I were confused by that last one.)  
  
Miss Skylark flushed slightly, but continued nonchalantly: "Oh, I do a lot of singing for Muggles - and wizards. I like to overlap. Both worlds have their own brand of amazing music. My favourite song, personally, is Richard Henley's 'Broken Wand', but sometimes it's funny to watch the charts of both worlds. Once Creedence Clearwater Revival and The Snapped Broomsticks had a song called 'Fortunate Son' that was a great hit in their respective worlds at the same time. Linda Lou Fairchild and the Muggle band 'Heart' knew each other for what they were - a witch and non-magic - and exchanged ideas all the time. Ms. Fairchild had written some of the lines to Heart's songs, and vice versa. 'I've Got The Music In Me' was originally a wizarding song that a Muggle did, and 'Desperado' was a song Ms. Linda heard on a Muggle station and later re-did for the wizarding world."  
  
None of us had known that!  
  
A small crowd gathered, most passerbys who came and went, but after the five of us left for a while we came back and have been staying since. We have enough sweets from Honeydukes to last, we've hit Zonko's, and we have time to kill, and I think we're spending most of it here.   
  
Miss Skylark is an excellent singer. She's singing mostly Beatles, which she explained was because they're easily the most recognizable British wizarding band, even if they broke up over twenty years ago. You should have heard Ernie! "Over twenty years ago! Why are we listening to 'em?" But now he's actually dancing a little!   
  
And Snuffles! How could I forget? Lisa and Chelsea and Ernie and Miss Skylark all think he's a lovable "pup" - which is funny, since Padfoot is huge. He sometimes plays tag playfully with some of the children who live in Hogsmeade and Lisa and Ernie. (Chelsea refuses.) But mostly he stays right by Harry - but not too often, as to not arouse suspicion. ***A/N: Miss Granger's next sentence was written in tiny letters and backwards.* **Clever Sirius.  
  
And Lupin! Oh my goodness - well, let's just say he came. And Miss Skylark asked for someone in the audience to perform with her - her standard trademark whenever she performs in Diagon Alley. (We have to catch her there sometime, but I think she performs for Flourish and Blotts right before we get out of school. Ah, well. Perhaps one day she'll be there later.) You guessed it. No one volunteered, and next we hear: "You, sir! Back row with the light hair! C'mon now, I recognize you as the same person who used to help set up Linda Fairchild's equipment and I need someone with experience!"  
  
I'm not sure what would have happened had Snuffles started doing a sort of dog-laugh - but a very clear laugh. That sort of settled it. Lupin raised an eyebrow at him immediately climbed on the stage, as if on a dare. Miss Skylark handed him a microphone, gave him a cup of Rememberance Potion - "C'mon, I know Ms. Linda played Muggle tunes and you heard 'em!" - and asked if he could play any instruments.  
  
"Will it totally destroy Ms. Fairchild's honour if I said I couldn't?" Lupin asked jokingly, causing everyone who understood the exchange to laugh, but then admitted to being able to play guitar. Snuffles had buried his face against Harry's leg at this point in amusement.  
  
"He's that bad?" Harry asked him.  
  
Snuffles shook his head.  
  
Just the opposite, actually. I really think the whole thing was pre-arranged, because Nicole and Lupin sound terrific. I mean it. Nicole's voice is wonderful as always, and Lupin's… it's not exactly MMChart material, but when combined with Miss Skylark's, it just sounds perfect. You can't tell me they haven't rehearsed before, unless what Miss Skylark gave him was some incredible potion, and you can't tell me that Lupin knew all these Beatle songs off by heart, Linda Lou Fairchild or no Linda Lou Fairchild. But I'm not complaining; I'm just enjoying.   
  
The funny part was that Lupin's A-A charm wore off during "I Saw Her Standing There", which caused a minor disturbance with Lisa and Chelsea and Ernie as they recognized him. Lisa took it very well; she laughed and said: "If you had told me in my third year that Lupin could play a guitar and would sing us Muggle songs in Hogsmeade, I'm not sure I'd've believed you." Ernie's face darkened, but that all changed when Miss Skylark suddenly sang a line of "P.S. I Love You" straight to him. We started teasing him and he went beet-red. And even he couldn't deny that "Here, There, and Everywhere" was beautiful. I swear I almost cried - and so did Chelsea, one of those "cold-hearted Slytherins".   
  
I'm going to have tons to write after the meeting as well. So I think I'll give my poor hand a rest and enjoy the concert. Besides, Snuffles likes to joke around by sticking his head against my hand and diary. A Marauder to the bone, I've concluded.  
  



	8. Discoveries

5 October, later

I'm dizzy and light-headed. I've just met the adult branch of the CC and am left feeling depressed and pessimistic. I've just said good-bye to Snuffles, hoping I see him alive again. And I've just learned more about Linda Lou Fairchild than I ever wanted to know. Not to mention that I don't know how to explain this all to Harry. 

Back from the beginning, shall I? 

All right, so the concert ended and us five and Lupin helped Miss Skylark put her equipment away - and Snuffles, but Snuffles, of course, couldn't do much. Then we realized that it was way too close to three o'clock and hurried to the Three Broomsticks.

The other members are Lisa Turpin (Lisa's mum), Mercy Gondola, Mavis Johansson, Marlana Payne (whose tongue is as sharp as it is rumoured to be), Jimmy Page, Charles Rossington, Ferris Bell, Jenna Kato, Debra Hansen, and Dolley Platt. And, of course, McGonagall, Fleur, Lupin, and Snuffles were there. We didn't go into the Three Broomsticks, though - we went around back, where it was more private. 

And we introduced ourselves. Mrs. Turpin, Mrs. Gondola, Ms. Johansson, and Mr. Rossington were friendly and reassuring, but several, like Miss Payne and Mr. Bell, just made my feeling of being scared out of my wits grow.

Worse, the biggest problem I can see is that half of us don't trust each other. Mr. Bell hates everyone, it seems; Mrs. Turpin and Miss Payne kept glaring at each other; Bell and Page don't trust McGonagall; Miss Payne and Mrs. Johansson don't trust Fleur; Ms. Kato is jealous of Mrs. Gondola, who is very pretty, and Ms Kato, Hansen, and Platt as well as Mr. Page refused to shake Lupin's hand. I think Lupin and Bell had some long-running feud (after watching Harry and Draco, I know the signs of a long-running feud) and when Fleur was introduced, her eyes narrowed and she muttered in French: "Ordure." Lupin smiled pleasantly and shot off a string of clumsy, but plain, French. From what I remember of the language, he said some meaningless "Good day to you, Miss Delacour", phase, and the only reason he used French at all was to show her he understood what "ordure" meant and if she was going to insult someone she might as well do it in the insultee's native tongue. Miss Payne made a number of jokes that McGonagall laughed very weakly and half-heartedly at. Page scowled at McGonagall and Mrs. Gondola unmercifully. 

Very adult.

Well, then the Debate started. My head is still aching. Mrs. Gondola, Miss Payne, Ms. Johansson, Rossington, Snuffles (who doesn't have a vote), Lupin, McGonagall, Fleur, and us five children really believed that You-Know-Who is back. McGonagall produced an official letter from Dumbledore, which convinced everyone except Mr. Bell, whom I want to smack anyway, and Ms. Kato. Hopefully they see the light soon.

So we finally agree that the Dark Lord's back, right? Right. And that's only the beginning. Deciding which course of action to take is a long and tedious process. It really seemed quite simple to me - alert the wizarding world by sending letters pronto. But they couldn't even agree on that, and when they did, they discussed things like: How much to reveal? How much proof do we give without giving away anything to the Dark Side? What if they don't believe us? Where are we going to get all those owls? (At this, Miss Payne beamed and said she was still breeding owls and that there were still plenty, which was something.) What about when the Ministry gets on us? (Under the agreement of the Order of the Phoenix, all they can do is tell the public that we're wrong, but half of them don't seem to understand that.) What will this do other than panic the population? (Put them on their guard, perhaps? Or is that just a crazy idea of mine?) 

I'll spare the gory details. The point is, Harry, Lisa, Chelsea, Ernie and I have to rough draft an appropriate letter of this vein. If anyone approves of it (which seems pretty farfetched to my eye), we'll send it. 

And then they had to contact the rest of the Correspondence Chain. Mr. Page protested that they never had done that before, that the last time they had started the Chain everyone had believed that You-Know-Who was in power because of the obvious proof and how were they to do it this time? Lupin responded that Voldemort probably had never tried to come back to power before and that he was learning the same we were, so at least we had a decent chance, as long as we figured out what we were doing quicker than he did. Page then demanded to know if he really thought You-Know-Who was that slow a learner. Lupin's patience was nearly at an end and he responded quietly that he had never said Voldemort was a slow learner. Page then demanded to know if Lupin was implying what he thought he was. Lupin didn't reply - an obvious giveaway that he was - and Prof. McGonagall broke this up, luckily.

And that, my friends, was but a very mild version of the petty little barbs being thrown back and forth during that long two hours in which I considered pulling my hair out in exasperation. 

Finally, the meeting ended, with myself wondering just what we had accomplished. Prof. McGonagall glanced down at me and nodded.

"Rather exasperating, isn't it, Granger?"

I had to agree.

But then - but then - the three nurses, Ms. Kato, Hansen, and Platt, and Professor McGonagall started talking while I was getting Harry's cloak. They thought I was with Harry, but Harry was saying goodbye to Snuffles and Lupin and I was hidden in the coat closet of the Three Broomsticks.

The conversation started off smoothly, with polite inquires about health and weather and such, and I considered just walking past them with an excuse me when they started talking about certain members of the CC, and then -

"Did you see that woman singing?" 

Since I realized this was about Miss Skylark, I waited. This sounded interesting.

"Nicole Skylark, I believe her name was," Ms. Hansen replied.

"Lovely singer," sighed Ms. Platt. Ms. Platt sighs a lot, even when she's perfectly happy. It's depressing. "Reminds me of dear Linda."

Now I was rather interested. Miss Skylark had mentioned Linda Fairchild several times; she was mentioned in several books for her Auror work, and, well, I just decided to listen.

"Well, wasn't Nicole her protégée?"

That explained the references.

"Linda never mentioned her," McGonagall replied. 

"Never?" asked Ms. Kato in surprise. "I was sure!"

"The name, I believe was mention by one of that little group… Nicole Skylark. But they were always mentioning names. A couple aliases, too." McGonagall managed to sound very business-like.

Or maybe not, I thought.

"But it was such a pity she died, wasn't it?" Ms. Hansen asked oh-so pointedly.

McGonagall seemed a little confused. "Well… yes, of course."

"I suppose we're just all remaining blind to it," Ms. Platt said, lips pursed.

McGonagall was now a lot confused. "To what, Dolley?"

"The fact that her murderer isn't dead or in Azkaban."

"Jenna, may I please beg you not to speak in riddles?"

I'm not going to repeat that conversation, mainly because the three medi-wizards are confusing me. But here's how the story goes, and this is based on what I gather and what is certified by McGonagall, whom I trust far more. 

Linda Fairchild was the same Lin mentioned in those letters I used for Harry's booklet. Linda was Lily's best friend - which right there gives her a significance in my eyes. The Fairchilds were not a respected family. They were of the performing line. Very few went to school; they were trained from an early age to perform - acting, singing, dancing, music, illusion… all of that line. Linda was an orphan, but it's not as if the Fairchilds were very family-intense. They lived in "caravans" and the family viewed each other as performing artists, not as cousins or siblings or parents or aunts or uncles. 

Linda attended Hogwarts - and, of course, befriended Lily Evans. From the conversation I overheard and from the letters, I conclude that their relationship was very interesting in the fact that, at the beginning, since Lily was Muggle-born and somewhat temperamental, Linda acted more as the "older sister". However, once they started reaching the age I am now, it seems Lily started acting older, more mature - she understood the war better, she understood studies better, she understood life better… she understood boys better. But it seems they were very close, always.

After Hogwarts - Lily didn't wait too long, just after a year, before marrying Harry's dad. She spent that year working as a nurse at St. Mungo's. Linda spent the time partly in Auror training, partly breaking away from Caravan Fairchild and starting her own career. James Potter apparently had a lot of money and Lily really didn't have to work, but she continued her nursing right up to when Harry was born and was resuming the task for a few months before she died. After three years, Linda was finally a full-fledged Auror. Needless to say, at that time Lily and Linda's work was in high demand. (Shudder. It is again, I just realized.) Ms. Kato, Ms. Hansen, and Ms. Platt all worked with Lily and Linda at times. 

Linda was dating Sirius on-and-off, throughout Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts. Sirius was never too serious about this until about 1980 (and by then, of course, he was running out of time). Otherwise, Linda wasn't too into the men… not that Professor McGonagall and those nurses know all about her private life, since Linda was sort of a private person, especially when in 1979 she made her first hit song, and she didn't really "go out" with anyone too much, other than Sirius. Her two best friends were Lily Evans - and Remus Lupin.

I'm not too sure if Linda knew of Lupin's condition. I'm just an ignorant no-good eavesdropper. They had gone to a dance at Hogwarts together, but were never really a "couple"… or never admitted to it, anyway. (McGonagall mentioned trying to keep their "teen hormone-ridden minds on task" in their seventh year, which indicates that she obviously thinks certain feelings might have gone a little deeper.) They were, however, very close friends… and my personal analysis is that they got ever closer after Lily got married. I'm sure Lily, whom everyone says is so nice and sweet, never shunned Linda, but, of course, married life causes a few changes, and Linda might not have wanted to intrude on Lily. In a friendship-y sort of way, Lupin was devoted to Linda. Linda seemed to have gained a free extra handyman. And they were constantly together, laughing while Linda dealt with her singing career… and from what I understand, she wasn't totally comfortable with it. Her career, I mean.

From what I concluded, these eight were a close group - Lily, Linda, James Potter, Sirius, Lupin, Pettigrew, Bella Figg, and a girl named Sammy Orr whom I don't know much about. She was mentioned in Sirius and Lupin's letters. Well, after Halloween 1981, a bunch of holes were shot in that little gang. Sammy Orr seems to have just… disappeared altogether. Bella, due to Bendall's Curse and the sudden fall of the Dark Side, was bedridden for several months and incoherent. But Linda and Lupin were alive, and Linda was in Very Deep Danger, as a visible Auror. I already know how Death Eaters killed several Aurors after You-Know-Who's fall. Not to mention that they were a little angry with Dumbledore over his decision to send Harry to the Dursleys. (Can they be blamed?) So Linda was… preoccupied. Lupin was apparently very worried about her safety. (I don't know about anyone else, but if I just lost three friends in one night due to the organization of a fourth, I'd be pretty paranoid with keeping the rest safe, too.) He made (ironically, considering today) an Anchor. Yes, I know Anchors are Refrudian stuff. McGonagall mentioned that both Lupin's parents went to Refrudula. (Which explains a few more things.)

The Shape for safety is a ring in a jagged, starred pattern which flashes certain colours. Lupin wore one, and if Linda was wearing the other one and was in danger (mortal, danger-danger) it would alert him and allow him to Disapparate to exactly that spot. It also offers the wearers added protection.

(As a side note, one day I've got to learn how to create those. Awfully handy.)

Naturally, you wouldn't do this unless you trusted the other person very much. Linda wore hers constantly. 

Three days after Halloween, she was killed.

The Death Eaters just waited for the full moon. Another member of the crowd gone.

But this is what I don't understand, and McGonagall put it quite nicely: "I've never been able to understand what Linda was doing in Jennifer's Forest" (which is right next to Marshall's Village and quite a nasty place) "all alone on the night of a full moon and without telling anyone anyway…"

What, indeed? Perhaps Linda wasn't as clever as the nurses made her out to be.

My hand's aching again and there's no point in going into detail about how badly all of us are complaining about the meeting. Rest assured, however, that Ron is going to be as envious as if we had just had the best time of our lives.

(You know what? I should just tell him about the concert and the beautiful Miss Skylark and leave it at that. You know, just to make him jealous…)

October 7

Frankly, I'm angrier at myself than anyone else right now since I told Ron the whole story, and, of course, he crowed: "See? I told you you'd tell me everything even if Harry and I didn't tell you what we were doing?"

"What were you doing?" I asked.

He smirked and then suddenly remembered he had Charms homework. Ha, ha, ha.

Onward.

Well, as predicted, there was an attack on Muggle Appreciation Day, but not in Hogsmeade. It happened instead in Bath, which, of course, has a fair amount of wizards. There was a small, hidden Muggle Fair. It's booths and tables and things were slashed and certain items were stolen, and there's a rumor that a woman is missing and it's all being hushed up. 

Very odd. Slightly disturbing.

What's very disturbing, to me, is the thought of You-Know-Who getting his hands on a good medi-wizard. We're studying Dark Illnesses. Not pretty. I'm doing a deadly essay on one now, which I should probably be finishing… especially since the boys are at practice. Quidditch, I mean. Sometimes I wonder lately if they think of anything else.

Well, Ron does. He's trying to figure out who Charlie's new girlfriend is and his latest theory is that it's Nicole Skylark. I, of course, told him to stop dreaming. He then teased me about being awfully sensitive to the whole thing. As if! Charlie's, well, a lot older than me, but when I mentioned that, Ron brought up Viktor. I told him to… er, well, do something. Then Harry mildly suggested we shut up.

9 October

Is Fred every crabby today! He snapped like a turtle when I brushed past him in the common room to get a book on Dark Illnesses I had left by the fire. I asked Ron about it and he shrugged.

"George was acting a little odd, too. Guess it's reflecting on him."

All very well and good, but I was rather taken off-guard!

Harry and I had fun teaching Ron Refrudian magic, though, and Ron was thrilled with the possibilities. In fact, a lot of the school is doing it now, thanks to Lisa, Chelsea, and Ernie. Perhaps we can cheer the twins up with it. If they weren't still going full force on the Weasley Triplet Operation I'd be very concerned. As it is, David Weasley is driving Drothl insane. Her teeth have been gritted together so much lately it's a wonder she can still chew. Prefect Blustovadk? Not a chance. But Davy had recently set loose Fang in the teacher's quarters (particularly Drothl's, I'm guessing), brought pixies into class and sneakily let them loose, has asked the worse, most sarcastic questions, has critiqued Drothl's fashion sense - or lack thereof - in front of the whole class, and has set off more Dungbombs than most of us even believed existed. While Davy feeds Drothl Canary Creams and Mustard-Flavoured Tarts, however, Fred and George (or whoever acts out Fred and George with Polyjuice Potion) is generally innocent and studious… but even the real twins have caused enough trouble with their true identities intact so that they're not real high up on Drothl's list, either.

Except for Bath, there really has been no Dark Activity lately. I almost wish there was; the suspense is more torturous than the actual happening. Us in the CC finally managed to draft a letter we agreed on, by some heavenly miracle. I wouldn't bet so much as a Knut, however, on getting even half of the senior members to approve or even agree.

Speaking of letters… Viktor recently sent a lovely one. 

But… and this only goes for here in this diary… I was naturally very excited when I got the letter… but after reading it… I felt almost… blank. It didn't mean anything… and writing back felt almost like a chore, as if I didn't quite know what to say.

Don't tell anyone. Especially Ron - because he won't let me forget it.

And… and this is another one of those private things… the Friday Night Flings have been postponed to at least mid-October this year due to the Dark Activity. I wrote of them last year, I think… a mini-dance in the Great Hall for fifth-years and older… and I was dreadfully disappointed when they hadn't started last month. Ron and Harry, well, of course, they were incredibly relived, but I wasn't. I sort of "invited" Ron to ask me to a ball last year, and would he? I mean, I'm just curious, that's all… We'd just go as friends, if he even did, because Viktor isn't here, of course.

But it's all so… oh, never mind. This is simply a waste of ink.

12 October

I can not believe it. I can not believe it! If Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world and all, isn't it within his capabilities to get us a normal, non-threatening Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for one year? Or is that asking too much?

Professor Drothl? Normal, non-threatening, my broomstick. I had to do some serious reminding of myself that Dumbledore trusts her.

But then, Dumbledore trusted "Moody". He's not a god. And, you know, maybe, just maybe, this time he went too far.

Of course, I never liked her to begin with. (Not dedicated to my education, indeed!) But still. And now I certainly have a reason.

She had been married to Fredrick Drothl. Who is Fredrick Drothl? Only the same medi-wizard who purposely created Drothlmities - a deadly serious Dark Illness - and purposely injected it into a five-year-old boy for an experiment!

And it was Christina Drothl's idea! She admitted readily to helping with the whole thing and even spending a month in Azkaban before being exiled from Europe for years and years. And now she is teaching at Hogwarts - while You-Know-Who is rising again!

Has Dumbledore gone insane? Does he really think a Defence Against the Dark Arts class is this important? 

I've decided to keep my mouth shut. (It really helped last time.) Except I think… I think… I'll tell Ron and Harry. Because, well, it might be something they'd want to know. Although knowing Ron… the school will know within a day. Maybe not. But definitely not everyone else. It'll cause mad panic. 

But - and this is another Hermione Granger vow - I will definitely keep an eye on Christina Drothl. Oh, and Fred and George and David and Lee and everyone else involved in that little plot?

Keep on going; I'm certainly not revealing it now. A five-year-old boy. She deserves all the misery you can inflict.

15 October

This is really obvious to me all the sudden. Sara "Blustovadk". Now, this is just a stab in the dark, but what if she's related - I think she might be too young to be a daughter - of the Drothls? It'll explain where she's been since 1992. And why she's certainly not a Blustovadk. Johann Blustovadk died, single, and had no living relatives. 

I knew there was a reason not to trust her. Now, far me it from me - I've been called "Mudblood" too many times - to distrust someone due to something out of their control like that… but… if she really is a Drothl, she knows a bit too more about Dark Illnesses for my sake of mind, let me tell you. I'll have to try and research that.

18 October

Very little on the Drothls; not anything I can find in the library without arousing Madam Pince's suspicion, anyway. But John is a different story. Charlie sent a letter to Ron today that said that John was no dominion, but a real, live person that he (Charlie) he met in Romania or wherever. And Charlie told us that if we happened to see him again - tell Dumbledore immediately. "He's our one great lead and connection to a clue as to where the Dark Lord will strike next. If he's spotted, there's probably some Death Eaters close by".

Well, well, well. I'm a little disappointed my theory wasn't correct… but I'm a bit annoyed with Charlie. If he told us that much, couldn't he have told us more?

19 October

YES!! YES!! YES!! The Friday Night Fling - back! Whoopee! 31 October! It was recently posted by the House points chart, and I admit I'm rather excited… even if Parvati and Lavender have zapped most of it out of me. 

It's midnight or so, so I can't talk long… but I'm wondering if - who will ask me. Viktor wasn't the only one who asked me last year, you know. Terry Boot and Daniel Levinski, both Ravenclaws, and Danny's a year older, asked me as well, as did Damion something-that-begins-with-a-"P" from Hufflepuff. (No Slytherins, thank goodness.) 

Er, well, er, Parvati and Lavender are, too. Lavender is probably going with Seamus… Parvati, however, is free enough for them to speculate and giggle so much that Ron and Dean were glaring at them most of the day for their "girl"-ness.

"Humph," I said. They just laughed.

"Thanks a lot," Sara added. (We were in the common room, and the seventh-years were right next to us - Ron, Harry, Neville, and myself. As a side note, although Sara is the same age as the seventh-years but doesn't have classes with them, she doesn't have too many close friends. In fact, none. So this arrangement was good for her so she could do her homework near both years and not even look like an awkward dork.)

"But you two aren't girls," George assured us, then hastily added: "Oh, you are, it's just you aren't… like some of those ones like your darling roommates. You're fun and easy to get along with."

Obviously George is feeling a bit better, and I thanked him. He grinned, actually somewhat sheepishly. 

"Not that we'll let you off the hook or anything," Fred added quickly, before we got any ideas. George nodded in agreement with a devilish grin.

Honestly, as boys go, the twins aren't so bad when they aren't turtles.

(The only problem is that they just lumped Sara and me into a group… Neville even said we're "a lot alike". Am not!)

I just sort of hope I'm enough of a girl to get a date. I don't want to feel too stupid. Luckily, however, due to my date with Viktor last year, Parvati and Lavender don't seem to think I'm their "baby" anymore and see that I can handle myself. Sara is their victim now.

"Hey, Sara, any boys been eying you for the fling?" Lavender asked casually a little later, for the sixth time today.

Sara laughed softly as she continued to write out a Transfiguration essay. "No, I don't think so."

"Any ones you might want to go with?" Parvati persisted.

She shrugged and glanced up. "Not in particular. I wouldn't mind a date, but I probably won't get one." (I could have warned her that those are dangerous words to say to our roommates, but she might as well figure it out for herself…) "But don't get any ideas for matchmaker, thanks."

"Why not? Wouldn't you like a boy?" Lavender continued.

"Depends on the boy. Can't think of too many who'd like me, anyway."

(Very clever of her.)

"But you really wouldn't look too bad if you wore makeup and borrowed some robes," Lavender squinted at her. 

"I hate makeup, and thanks for the offer but no thanks." Sara has as much an aversion to makeup as myself and her robes are secondhand - actually, probably more like fifth-hand.

"Why not?" Parvati asked sensibly.

"I've my own."

"Yeah, but you look like… like…" Lavender tried to think of a polite way to put this as Sara turned back to our essay. Parvati wasn't so diplomatic.

"Like Dana Ronsably. Like the Weasleys'. Like a Defence teacher we had while you were gone. Like Charlotte Kindle."

"Charlotte's nice," Sara said mildly, thoughtfully. "She's a sweet person. And really clever. Did you see those miniature houses she makes? And I wouldn't insult any Weasley with Hermione here."

I nearly slapped her.

"'Specially Ron?" Lavender giggled.

"I didn't say that," Sara said nonchalantly. Now I nearly smacked them both, and Parvati, who was smirking. Ron! Ron Weasley! As if!

"But you're pretty clever yourself, and a prefect, and you're pretty nice. Some boys like that. If you'd just…" 

Sounds a lot like what I heard last year: "Hermione, you're really not too hopeless… a dab of makeup and charms… you're practically Head Girl already, and you're really clever and intelligent… a Ravenclaw, perhaps…" The thing is, it's a put-down, patronizing, and even embarrassing. I don't like Sara anymore than ever, but I did almost feel like telling the other two to cut it - "If that's your idea of a complement, well, you're misled."

But I'm not stupid, and no way an I sacrificing the relationship with Parvati and Lavender, who I'm on good terms with, for the girl I'm not. No, no, and no. The nerve of Sara, really! Ginny, for some reason, really likes her and they talk so much that I'm sometimes left out with Ginny. And Neville seems to go to her for help more and more instead of me. It's really annoying, and each time I realize this I just glare at her for a while. She's not even more intelligent than I am, not by a long shot. She gets excellent marks in most subjects, but not as good as mine, and her Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts scores are average, not much more. She's not nearly as dedicated; she doesn't spend half the time studying that I do. She's not more responsible - in fact, she has the glimmers of a troublemaker - and no more talented. So why was she made prefect over me? Unless it's some agreement to keep Drothl happy, if they really are connected.

22 October

Well, Harry's had about three-fourths of the girls in school ask him to the Fling. I know he's really only after one… Cho Chang. But… asking her would be just plain… insensitive. He did it last year; Cho turned him down for Cedric. Now Cedric's dead - and some think Harry killed him, mind you. To ask her again this year, like: "Well, now that Cedric's out of the way…?"

Well, Harry seems to realize it's probably not the best idea as well and hasn't asked her yet. I've just caught him staring. I gently warned him that unless he wants a repeat of last year, he should ask someone soon. He just shakes his head and sighs and says in response to my further questions that he's more concerned about the Quidditch match against Slytherin 1 November. 

Ron hasn't had any girl come up to him - naturally; you know, usually the boys ask. But he's paying close attention to the dates and is giving both Patil twins a wide berth. He knows nearly as much about whose going with whom as Parvati and Lavender. Parvati, by the way, is going with Jason Leffler, whom is a "good catch" because he's now Gryffindor Keeper. (But, as I pointed out, he hasn't proved himself in a match yet. Then Parvati and Lavender glared at me.)

Fred and George hit a snag with David Weasley and the Friday Night Flings. Since they're seventh-years and these come every two weeks, they don't mind missing a few every so often - but not the first one by far. So they'll need a few good-natured dates who are in on the joke. Katie and Alicia have grinningly agreed. The problem is, that's only two. Too bad Angelina still isn't here… but hopefully they'll find someone. I bet Sara would probably do it - she hates Drothl as much of the rest of us, and, as I think I mentioned, is a lousy prefect. Ginny probably would if it wasn't for the fact she was their sister! In my newfound hate for Drothl, I'd probably do it! Lee isn't about to skimp on his date to play David, either. I think in the end David Stebbins will take some Polyjuice Potion and be David Weasley - he's the Hufflepuff fourth-year who adores them. But as a date? Hmm.

Oh, I felt so bad… Jerome Gringell of Hufflepuff asked me today. He's in our year… but he's sort of… nerdy. Neville-like. But when I said no, he took it really well.

"Oh, that's okay. I was sort of hesitant anyway. I'm in the Oblivitators, and if we convince Dumbledore to let us play the Fling, then I probably wouldn't be much of a date anyway."

I didn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't much of a date in the first place, Oblivitators or no, and I really lost all of it when he continued: "Thanks anyway, Hermione. I'm sure you'll have a good time and get a good partner. You're the cleverest girl in school and are really pretty, by the way." 

Ron overheard and hasn't let me forget it.

I'm crossing my fingers and am hoping someone else asks me… and that Ron gets his head out of his behind. Not necessarily ask me… but he had better not come crawling.

24 October

Ron asked me. I was actually the first person he asked, which is something.

The problem was, once again, he was too late. 

Bobby Renshaw of Ravenclaw asked me this morning. I had gotten another offer since Jerome and before Bobby but was still worried I wouldn't get a date… and accepted.

Ron is grumpy. Serves him right.

The decorations are getting up for Christmas. It looks fantastic, as usual. Especially the skeleton in the third-floor corridor… especially since yesterday it scared Draco Malfoy out of his skin. Definitely not a Gryffindor! I mean, isn't he the all-mighty pureblood? Ha, ha! 

Malfoy, by the way, is going with Pansy Parkinson, and they deserve each other. 

                                                                                                            25 October

            I feel slightly silly for writing every day now that the Fling is coming up… but, hey, I'm excited. Furthermore, this is rather writing-worthy, even if it is connected to the Fling. After all, I liked Nicole Skylark. But let me explain. 

            It started this morning at breakfast. Dumbledore had an announcement… Celestina Warbeck was ill and could not come to perform for the Fling. There was a collective moan before he continued: "Fortunately, however, we will have our music provided by our very own band right here at Hogwarts, the Obliviators."

            Jerome Gingell, Susan Bones, and Rachel Molesky all beamed.

            Dumbledore continued, explaining that they only had a part of the Obiliviators. Apparently some of the members attend Refrudula and one goes to Beaxbatons, including the lead singer, Kathleen Kozinowski. And it was so close to Halloween that most of the singers were already booked, and he needed any idea at all of whom might be willing to perform for the Fling.  

            Several suggestions were called out, but a cry from the Ravenclaw table – Lisa's friends – suddenly rang out very loudly and clear above the maelstrom: "We want Lupin's girlfriend!"

            I shook my head in mild amusement, but seeing Miss Skylark appealed to me as well and many people paused and turned inquisitively to Dumbledore. Several of Chelsea's Slytherin friends called out their agreement, and the Obliviators and their friends were pleading for her as well – "the Hogsmeade singer". 

            "I believe we have a nominee," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll see what I can do." 

            When Harry and I were leaving the Great Hall for our first class, Dumbledore stopped us. 

            "Since those in the Correspondence Chain were the only to visit Hogsmeade thus far this year, and the ones who lobbied for this lady are mainly from the Chain, I supposed I could inquired of who Professor Lupin's friend is from you?" 

            Only then did I realize that he had no clue whom everyone had been referring to and tried not to laugh.

            "Her name is Nicole Skylark, sir," Harry said.

            Dumbledore looked deeply thoughtful. "Ms. Skylark… you enjoyed her?"

            I nodded. "Yes. She was very talented and friendly."

            He smiled. "That's Nicole for you. She's a friend of mine; I believe I could ask her to come. She has no plans I know of for Halloween." He seemed as thought he wanted to say something, and I prepared myself for a question. But he paused and shook his head slightly before changing his tack. "Thank you for your information."

            Which was neat. I'll be glad to see Miss Skylark again.

                                                                                                25 October, later

            I, er, sort of, er, did a stupid thing. I… told Bobby Renshaw thanks, and I'm terribly sorry, but… I was going with someone else.

            Ron Weasley, to be exact.

            I felt terrible. Bobby was so nice, and Ron was… a jerk. At times. But, well, we were friends, and I was going steady with Viktor and couldn't very well go with someone other than a close friend.

            Right?

            Bobby took it politely, even if I'm sure he'll be a bit cool in the next few days.

            Now's the funny part.

            I haven't told Ron yet. How do I explain this one?

            Good move, Genius Granger.


	9. A Witch's First Friday Night Fling

**Rheanna: I GET TO KEEP MY ACCOUNT!! GOT A NEW ONE FOR FF.N!! WHOOPIE!! And I'm sorry this is so short!  
  
Ron: *scowls* You made me sound like a prat.  
  
Rheanna: Ron, I love you, and I hate to say it, but sometimes you *are* a prat.  
  
Hermione: Hey!  
  
Rheanna: He's being mean to you. Remember?  
  
Sirius: When do we see more of me?  
  
Rheanna: *smiles fondly* We will. Don't worry. You show up a lot the sixth and seventh years.  
  
Sirius: You didn't even MENTION me in the last chapter!  
  
Rheanna: I did so!  
  
Sirius: But no one's read your _James Potter and the Grudge of Drothl_ before! They don't know you meant_ me_!  
  
Remus: *rolls eyes* Well, I think you just gave it away. The readers know now.  
  
Rheanna: Right. And thank you, Remus.  
  
Sirius: You're kissing up to her, aren't you, Moony?  
  
Remus: *suddenly on dignity* Of course not.  
  
Susan: How come I sound like a prat?  
  
Rheanna: Cause, as you might remember, I'm writing a Christmas story featuring you, but you won't cooperate, so it probably won't come out until June.  
  
Sirius: Remus is in that, too, and I'm not!  
  
Rheanna: Sorry, Padfoot. Susan thinks you're an insane murderer.  
  
Hermione: Let me guess. Is there any romance between Nicole Skylark and Remus Lupin?  
  
Rheanna: *annoyed* You know, I have several stories with Remus in them, and you're *always* better off not looking for Remus's lover in every woman he sees. You'll be greatly disappointed if you don't. No, Remus is not marrying Nicole. No. Oh, speaking of which... er... uh... um. Let's just say that in one of these three stories, I kill off a certain character. Um... he's, um... let's see... dare I say... well, mild. Controlled... brown hair... mostly brown... and he, uh, taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at one point. *ducks as several frantics catch her hints and chuck things at her*  
  
Ginny: No, listen. Let us offer an explanation. Author Rheanna won't usually ask reviewers for their opinion on big-plot things, but in the seventh year, she has two endings written out, and she likes both equally well. In one, Professor Lupin dies. In the other, he doesn't. So she wants to see how many flames she'll get to help factor her decision.  
  
Rheanna: *smiles gratefully* Exactly. Ginny, you just became my favourite character.  
  
Ginny: *beams* Can the seventh-year be told through my diary? You said the sixth is probably from Sara's.  
  
Rheanna: The readers can tell me if they like that idea when they leave a review. I think I like the idea of Hermione -- 5th, Sara -- 6th, and Ginny -- 7th, only that makes it sound like I don't like writing through boys, and I do. I'm in the middle of a Severus Snape story, aren't I?  
  
Severus: *scowls* Indeed you are.   
  
Rheanna: *looks worried* Anyway, you've waited long enough for this chapter. Thank you all for your support and patience. Please tell me what you think of the above issues, and any suggestions are welcome. I listen and reply to them all, even if I don't always use them, and I love feedback. Also, you should check out Voltora's "The Greatest Gift", involving Padfoot and Moony, as well as Alphia's "Through the Eyes of the Werewolf". (I especially like the latest chapter. In Filch's office, indeed!)   
  
Thanks again! You guys RULE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
Note to previous readers: The beginning of this, you probably recognize. Starting with "31 October", however, the new chapter (for you) starts. **  


  
  
27 October  
  
Oh no oh no oh no oh no.  
  
I hate the Dursleys - I really hate them. Uncaring gits. Yes, the Dursleys. Because of them, all problems with Bobby and Ron have faded far, far into the background.  
  
Harry's in the hospital wing with Nathan's Flu.  
  
Why's that the Dursleys' fault, when Nathan's Flu is known to the magical community only? Because the vaccination to smallpox is also a vaccination to Nathan's Flu; they're so similar.   
  
You guessed it. The Dursleys never bothered to get their nephew the vaccination for smallpox!   
  
!!!  
  
They are horrible, horrible guardians. You don't know how badly I hope Sirius's name is cleared soon. So he might have made a few not-so-clever decisions. But trust me, Sirius would take care of Harry and no doubt about it. In fact, next to the Potters, Sirius is the best guardian Harry could ask for.   
  
I mean, Harry would have been vaccinated for smallpox, of all things. Or at least Nathan's Flu.  
  
And now there's a not-so-slight problem. Since nearly every child in the world is vaccinated for Nathan's Flu and no civilized person has gotten it in, oh, a couple centuries, Madam Pomfrey doesn't really have an instant cure for it. Pepperup Potions do nothing. She gave him a dose of something that guarantees he's not contagious - sort of stupid; we are all vaccinated! - but the side effect is that most of the time he's knocked out. He's way too weak to even think of moving out of that bed in the hospital wing. In fact, he has trouble opening his eyes when Ron and I visit.  
  
But, of course, he can find the strength to ask about the Quidditch game.  
  
Madam Pomfrey won't let him out for at least a week, and, frankly, he simply can't get up for at least a week.  
  
Gryffindor has no reverse Seeker.  
  
I mean, that pales in contrast to the fact that if it wasn't for Madam Pomfrey's genius, Harry would be dead, but now that we're assured he won't die… Gryffindor has no reverse Seeker.  
  
29 October  
  
Harry's no worse, no better… although when it comes to Quidditch, he can carry on an intelligent conversation. (When homework comes up… he's too tired, of course.)   
  
Harry and Charlie are legendary as Seekers. No one in all of Gryffindor wants to try and fill in those shoes. They'd rather forfeit to Slytherin, with their Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. I want to yell at them to stop being babies, and then I realized that I haven't exactly volunteered, either. Alicia is worried sick over Harry and worried sick over the Seeker opening.   
  
Oh, there's another small thing. I can't concentrate on Quidditch; I just dropped the news on Ron that I'm going to the Fling with him.  
  
He paled. "You… what?"  
  
"I'm going to the Fling with you."  
  
"What about Renshaw?"  
  
"I canceled my date with him."  
  
Ron was dumbstruck for a moment before he found his voice. "Er, Hermione… I'm going with Diana Newman… that dark-haired Hufflepuff in our year. I asked her two days ago."  
  
Uh-oh. First I was as dumbstruck as he was. "Ron… what am I going to do? I told Bobby I wasn't going with him!"  
  
Then Ron got a bit nasty. "Well, that's your problem. I can't just wait around for you."  
  
My own temper rose in my momentary panic. "And what does that mean?"  
  
"The world doesn't revolve around you - I couldn't just wait around, could I?"  
  
"Well…"  
  
Then we got into a full-blown argument. I'm not quite sure if I remember what I said and I'm not quite sure I want to remember.  
  
And, by the way, I've a headache.  
  
And I'm dateless. Too bad Harry's in the hospital wing. It's screwing up a lot of things, isn't it?  
  
Blasted Dursleys.  
  
(Yes, I sweared. So sue me.)  
  
  
30 October  
  
As if I needed added stress. Today McGonagall told me that some of the senior members of the CC hadn't liked our rough draft letter. I sighed in annoyance and exasperation.  
  
"Wait," she ordered. "Now, between you and me, Miss Granger, the two people are Misters Page and Bell and Ms. Platt. That's three; the rest of us can easily overrule them. But it's Fleur Delacour's decision - you are in charge of the Chain now, and she's your overseer. Will she overrule Mr. Page is the question."  
  
Major headache in the works.  
  
"Can I put it off until after the Gryffindor/Slytherin match?" I pleaded… whined, actually. I hadn't felt this stressed out in a long time.  
  
I never felt so awful in my life… okay, I probably did, but it was pretty bad… when I said that, and McGonagall just looked at me for a moment. "It's your decision, Miss Granger. Just remember that each day lost is a day the Dark Lord gets ahead and 'learns' a little more."  
  
So, in other words, I went to go talk with Fleur about overruling Mr. Page. The problem is, they're really very friendly. I'm not getting into gory details. In the end, Fleur replied that she'd get back to me tomorrow.  
  
"Each day lost is a day the Dark Lord gets a little ahead," I muttered.  
  
"What?" Fleur asked.  
  
I -  
  
Wait… okay, he's gone. Fred keeps on peeking over. I don't want him to see my diary… especially the stuff about Ron.  
  
Like a coward, I replied: "Nothing." But then -  
  
Had to stop again. But after I said "nothing", I felt like a coward. I mean, if I had just said it louder, the message might have got home to her. What if someone's life hangs in the balance of that one day? It'll be my fault then -  
  
Hold on, hold on. Since I think Fred wants to talk, I'll oblige.  
  
30 October, later  
  
Well, we have a taker for the Seeker position.  
  
You might have heard of her. Her name is Sara Blustovadk.  
  
She's probably going to make a fool of herself, and if it wasn't for the fact that I don't want to see any Gryffindor shamed in front of Slytherin I would be happy about it. As it is, Fred wants me to tell Harry about it and find out if there's any pointers the star Seeker might want to give the fill-in. I'm going now, I suppose.  
  
Blustovadk. Of all people.  
  
  
30 October, even later  
  
Harry took it fairly well, even though he was torn between relief that a Seeker had been found, doubt of the abilities of Sara, and the instinct to fall asleep. He repeated a few things I'm to tell Sara. I suggested I could tell Ginny who could tell Sara, but he protested something might get lost in the translation, and he had a point, I guess.   
  
"Well, we might at least have a Seeker - and let's hope Katie and Alicia and Candy are very, very good - but get well soon, Harry," I told him.  
  
He grinned weakly. "I'm trying." He sounded bleak. "This is awful though. Of all the times it had to be ill, it had to be right before the first game… I haven't played a match since we won the Cup, a real match, anyway, and it seems like an eternity. And I feel as if I let the team down. Again."  
  
I said gently: "Don't blame yourself. You can't help it, and you've never 'let the team down'. Think of how many games they might not of won if it hadn't been for you!"  
  
He shrugged. "Yeah. Anyway, at least I get to miss the Fling."  
  
"There's a plus," I said dryly.  
  
I didn't have nearly as much fun talking to Sara. She was in our dormitory and quickly hid something when I came in.  
  
"Hello to you too," I said.  
  
She flushed. "Sorry."  
  
"So you're going to be Seeker?"   
  
She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. "Yeah. I figured I was no worse than no Seeker at all, and no one else volunteered, and Alicia kept asking me, so -"  
  
"You're blabbing," I pointed out, giving her the list of notes I had gotten from Harry.  
  
"Say, thanks," she said, flipping through them before looking up at me and saying: "Thank you."  
  
"No problem. I want to see Gryffindor do well. I'm a true Gryffindor, after all."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sara asked coolly.  
  
"I don't have any of this transfering and re-Sorting bit."  
  
"Blame Hufflepuff's nephew. That's _his _brainchild. If you truly believe I enjoy sharing a dormitory with you, you're wrong," she shot back.  
  
Suddenly, I felt a spark of almost... empathy for her. I turned thoughtfully for the door.  
  
That ended really quickly. When my hand was on the knob, I suddenly heard a loud _bang_! Suddenly sparks were all over my hair. I turned to Blustovadk furiously, and she grinned. "Need a comb, Hermione?"  
  
"That could have been dangerous!"  
  
"I didn't throw it at you. I knew it would explode before it reached you. I only wanted you to get a quick shower."  
  
"I could have been burned!"  
  
She shrugged and met my glare casually. "That's what the star student -- that's you, by the way -- is a witch for. Burns aren't as bad as some things." She grinned. "You're hair doesn't look any worse."  
  
I'm _still _seeing red! I've wondered before if I was a bit harsh on her, but now it's all over. Throwing a Firecracker at me!   
  
  
  
31 October  
  
Despite all, I think Harry in the hospital wing is having a better time than I am right now at the Fling, and I'm seriously tempted to go and visit him.  
  
Well, Ron "jilted" Diana. His words - "Wait up a moment. I jilted Diana. I'm going with you."  
  
I'm serious! It was when he met me in the common room. I was dressed and ready, but I hadn't really got very dressed up, and Ron comes down glowering from the boys' dormitories, walks over to me, and mutters the above. Then, scowling, he walks me down to the Great Hall.  
  
All I could think of were several curses in my head. In one way, I was _furious_ with him! Yes, I'm grateful - sort of - that he ended up going with me - but in another, I'm very angry that he's acting that way. He was _sulking_ as he escorted me to our first Friday Night Fling. Sulking; yes, sulking. Moping. Glowering. You might have thought that walking into the Hall with Hermione Granger was causing him pain!  
  
"Why?" was all I managed as we walked down the stairs.  
  
He shrugged curtly. "I'm not sure."  
  
Well, did we ever cause some whispers as we walked in, especially from the Gryffindors, who heard our recent fight in the common room a few days ago and probably remember the one after the Yule Ball last year. Head turned with raised eyebrows.  
  
"Take a picture; it'll last longer," Ron retorted.  
  
"That's, er, a Muggle phrase," I reminded him.  
  
"So?"  
  
Of course, being ickle fifth-years at a Fling is like being first-years in the halls. We were regulated to the outskirts for the time being, neither of us saying much. I noted that we had three Weasley twins (now, that sounds funny) but that one of them was sneaking outside with a girl in clear view of Drothl. A shaky, but decent solution to the problem. The two left (whom I think are the real Fred and George) are with their dates, catcalling to the Obliviators and Nicole Skylark.  
  
"How's Harry?" I asked, for lack of a better start of conversation.  
  
"He's doing all right," Ron shrugged. He didn't sound as moody, but he wasn't sounding especially thrilled, either. "Well, okay, a little worse, but Pomfrey said he's in no danger."  
  
There was another long silence as the informal gathering - very unlike the Yule Ball - got more and more into the mood of the night.   
  
"Want to meet Ms. Skylark before she has to start?" I suggested.  
  
He shrugged again. "All right."   
  
We pushed our way through the crowd to the stage, where Susan, Jerome, Rachel, and a girl I didn't recognize were setting up. She was introduced as Mary Henley - "no relation, sorry!", the group's back up singer and flutist. She was on the heavy side but nice enough. Ms. Skylark recognized me instantly.  
  
"Why, Miss Granger, nice to see you again. I think I might have forgotten to tell you thanks for your help in putting away my 'luggage' after the concert. And who's the young man?"  
  
I smiled - hesitantly, for now Ron was brought back in. "This is Ron Weasley, my friend."  
  
I thought Ms. Skylark very wise in not referring to the zillions of other Weasleys out there and concentrating on Ron himself. That probably earned her several points in his book. "Hello, Mr. Weasley. Pleasure to meet you as well. You're in the same year as Miss Granger?"  
  
Luckily, Ron got slightly more sociable while talking with Ms. Skylark  
  
You should have seen Susan and Jerome. I have never seen them so passionate about anything. They're your ideal Hufflepuffs, friendly and caring and considerate, hard studiers and more intent on schoolwork than what else might go on in the school if the homework isn't completed, and obviously being more complex than they show outwardly. But for once you saw just how intent and eager they were; with them, it's usually a concealed sort of thing! If I had thought that Ms. Skylark had talked with a vast knowledge and eagerness to share it about music, they were even worse - worse because they blabbed a bit, and worse because they didn't know nearly as much as Ms. Skylark. But it was a contagious sort of happiness.   
  
And no doubt they were good. They were excellent; I was impressed. They were the same age as myself and played music like I wished I could. That's my summer project - I'm going to play an instrument. Only I'm not sure which; but it's only Halloween, so I think I have time.  
  
"Want to dance?" I asked hesitantly at last, during "Don't Need A Love Potion".  
  
Ron actually didn't scowl. (Can you believe?) He looked thoughtful, and then hesitant. "Er, well, I'm not too sure how well I dance, actually."  
  
"That's okay. I'm not great at informal dancing, either." The Yule Ball worked out okay, because it was slightly more formal. I was a bit lost here. But, I figured we could continue being fools together. We had already done a good job of that lately.  
  
Well, we continued to do our job and do it well. We were snickered at heartlessly for a while. The Ron I had once been friends at would have been a little angry but probably would have at least grinned at it at one point with me.   
  
He didn't here, though. He was still aloof and monosyllabic.   
  
Frankly, I got irritated.  
  
So, naturally, in the complex and intriguing process of irritation between a male and female teenager, we turned to bickering.  
  
Original idea, was it not?  
  
I think we provided more entertainment than even The Obiliviators and Nicole Skylark.   
  
"Ron," - through gritted teeth - "you're on my foot."  
  
"It's a new step that's all the rage," he retorted with his trademark sarcasm. I actually giggled; he glanced up at me in surprise. We broke eye contact quickly. Shortly afterward, Ron tripped and I barely caught him. The whole hall tittered and The Obiliviators skipped a note in their song while they held back laughter. And so on. And so on. The whole hour was an embarrassing, pride-degrading display.   
  
Then Beatrice Madison of Hufflepuff cut in on us. I sort of glowered at her and she looked surprise - I guess she thought she was doing me a favour. (As a side note, I'm worried - she's Diana Newman's best friend and Ron jilted her, remember?…)   
  
Fred - or, hopefully it's Fred - is going slightly wild. (After all his talk about how he could never possibly be "untrue" to Angelina, I think she told him to shut up, get a date, and enjoy himself.) His dancing is getting plain… wacky. And George has joined in the fun; he's dancing with six girls at once, before he suddenly cuts them all off, goes and sulks for a while for some reason I can't fathom, and then comes back to the floor and the whole routine starts again.  
  
Jason Leffler is bored. Oh, it's amusing. His listening to Parvati with one ear and gazing around the room uncomfortably. I don't think he's adjusting kindly to fame.  
  
I'm bored, too. Ron is done with Beatrice but now he's with Lisa's roommate Mandy. Where'd he get so popular? Perhaps something about that red hair, great smile, and wit is getting to some people. The fishes. I should go visit Harry. It doesn't matter how much Madam Pomfrey tells me he's not in mortal danger… I'm _worried_! Now would be a good time; the band's in the middle of a big long instrumental.  
  
31 October  
  
Er, disregard that. This is another piece of a developing soap opera, and it includes Nicole Skylark this time -  
  
(Soap opera. That pretty much describes the past four years.)  
  
It was while she was taking a short break that she and Dumbledore sort of gravitated. In fact, I think Dumbledore was looking for her. They edged nearly out of the Great Hall. I never heard Dumbledore like this before… at first he was polite and friendly, but it seems like he was just leading up to the point where he got harsher.  
  
I was there, too… hidden behind a tall set-up stand for a magical sound magnifier.   
  
"I'm terribly sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you sooner, Nicole," Dumbledore began politely.  
  
I sensed that Ms. Skylark had stiffened. "That's quite all right, Albus. Most employers don't mingle with the lowly entertainment, you know."  
  
"I don't always follow the mold."  
  
"That you don't, sir. But I thank you for the invitation."  
  
I should have sensed something right there. She was getting so stiffly polite… she was always loose and friendly when I had seen her before. Ginny mentioned that she had a verbal battle with Snape himself and got away unscathed. Yet Dumbledore's the greatest wizard in the world, and the biggest supporter of the Light Side. Is Ms. Skylark on the Dark, perhaps?   
  
"I was happy too… we didn't have much of a choice, in any case… when I heard you were in Hogsmeade I considered asking you, but name recognition, you understand."  
  
"Not something that's on my side, of course." Ms. Skylark was a little icy.  
  
"I'm afraid not. A shame for such a lovely singer."  
  
"Very flattering. Not entirely true."  
  
"Nicole, I'm afraid you're losing your self-confidence."  
  
"I do wonder why. No, forget that. I'm sorry. Go on."  
  
I tried to figure out what she was apologizing for.  
  
"With what, my dear?"  
  
"Oh, you were saying… oh…" Now she was flustered. "So why did you invite the unknown amateur to perform the first Friday Night Fling of the year?"  
  
Now Dumbledore's tone dropped by degrees: "I was hoping you'd ask that."  
  
Ms. Skylark was silent, waiting for elaboration.  
  
"The members of our Hogwarts branch of the CC loved your performance. You are to be congratulated."  
  
"No, I'm not. Animal magnetism."  
  
"I see you can still deflect a compliment gracefully. I seem to remember how you and Remus Lupin used to make a career out of deflecting insults just as well, even if it was only in fun."  
  
"I remember."  
  
"Interesting, that. Apparently all of the student population thinks you are dating."  
  
"What?"   
  
You know, Ms. Skylark didn't sound enormously surprised. Not "_What?_!" She was just very mild, even, and nondescript. Just: "What?"  
  
"Yes, indeed. I believe they were just joking and exaggerating the truth greatly, however, something must have happened to have even put the idea in their minds."  
  
Ms. Skylark sighed. "At the Muggle Fair I had to pick a volunteer and Ahemd didn't show up. Apparently he had an ailing mother. I saw Rem and knew he was the one person I could count on. I drugged him before we started and I used my Appearance-Alternating charms. He didn't recognize me. What else could I do?"  
  
"You could have put the war ahead of your living and simply have brushed off tradition for once in your life."  
  
"It was a split-second decision - while I was trying to play the chords to 'Act Naturally' on a keyboard at the same time. I'm sorry; my frame of mind might not have been that structured."  
  
"Fine. Certainly. I understand the intense pressure." Yes, I think Dumbledore was being somewhat sarcastic. "However, from now on, remember my warning."  
  
"Could be worse," she muttered. "Horror. What if I had talked to Sirius?  
  
"That's the only thing I can think of that might have been worse," Dumbledore retorted. "For right now, _keep your distance_. The _last_ thing I need right now is for two of my agents to have their normally controlled temperaments thrown completely out of whack unnecessarily."  
  
"I remember you said something like that once," Ms. Skylark said coldly, but I could hear hurt in her tone. "Harry Potter spent ten years in the clutches of Petunia Evans and Vernon Dursley."  
  
There was another pause. I didn't dare peek to see their expressions. "That," Dumbledore said at last, " was necessary. This is not. Stay away from Lupin, Ms. Skylark. You've had thirteen years."  
  
"I won't see another thirteen," Ms. Skylark said quietly. "So I suppose you're right. As usual."  
  
Dumbledore turned to leave and I was afraid I might be spotted, but then Ms. Skylark said suddenly: "Albus!"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Yet another pause. "Don't be," he replied at last. "Enjoy tonight."  
  
I think Harry and I will be having an interesting conversation.  
  
  
31 October, later  
  
  
"Why aren't you at the Fling?" Madam Pomfrey demanded sourly when I asked to visit Harry. "It's ten o'clock, the boy is sleeping -"  
  
"No, I'm not!" Harry's weak protest came. "I'm awake! Please, Madam Pomfrey, I'm dying of boredom!"  
  
I hid a grin. She sighed and surrendered, muttering something about how they were "all alike". I teased Harry about his aversion to the hospital wing stays.  
  
He sighed melodramatically "Yes…" He sniffed. "I should get a hospital wing survival bag."  
  
"Christmas is coming," I hinted, thrilled to have an idea for his present.   
  
He suddenly jerked to a conclusion. You know how it is when you're ill - sometimes your mind isn't working at the correct speed. "You and Ron!" he said suddenly. "What's going on?"  
  
"Took you long enough," I rolled my eyes. "For your information, Ron was in the company of a pretty Ravenclaw when I last saw him." I saw him colour and try to hide it. "Her name is Mandy. In any case, I decided not to interrupt."  
  
"But I thought -" He cut off sharply.  
  
I glared. "You knew Ron would cut off his date with Diana."  
  
He flushed slightly. "Yeah."  
  
"Great. I'm really glad to hear that; destroyed the last shred of pride I have!"  
  
Harry blinked. "Why? How?" he asked cluelessly.  
  
Honestly. _Boys!_ They don't understand anything, do they?  
  
I calmed down enough to talk coherently. "So I decided to visit you. I'm really sorry you couldn't come."  
  
"I'm upset about the match, not the stupid Fling," he assured me.  
  
"Yeah, but you don't seem to be happy here, either. Who knows? You might have had fun at the Fling. May I remind you that you're the most famous person in the whole school?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I know."  
  
"Well, think about it. If you hadn't been so keyed up last year with Cho, you might have realized that an abnormal number of people have a crush on an awkward skinny kid with crazy hair."  
  
He squinted. "That's because of my… my fame? Not cause I was champion?"  
  
"Being champion didn't hurt…" I allowed. "But it's more the other thing. And," I added hastily, for Harry began to scowl, "some, like Ginny, probably like you because you're… you. Just for your personality." _Especially Ginny.   
_  
"Go on. So what's going on there? How was that group of Hufflepuffs?"  
  
"Excellent, actually. I enjoyed them."   
  
"Cool."  
  
"Yes. And it's all very interesting, actually. You would have had fun. Honestly, Harry, do you remember your father was a social butterfly?"  
  
He winced. "Some comparison. 'Butterfly'?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Social… figure. That better?"  
"Much."  
  
"In any case, don't have such an aversion to crowds… it's not _all_ bad."  
  
"Did you come here to lecture, Professor Granger?"  
  
I scowled slightly. "No. I was looking out for your well-being."  
  
"Yeah… and you were bored," grinned Harry.  
  
"Right."  
  
"And abandoned by my best friend."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And ready to go to bed, but can't without Parvati and Lavender asking about your state of mind."  
  
"Right. Three points to Gryffindor."  
  
"Are we out of the negatives Snape put us in yet?"  
  
Madam Pomfrey glanced at us sharply as we giggled helplessly.  
  
"That won't happen for a while. Can I just confide my deepest troubles to you?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes and yawned, half in fun and whole in earnest, which is something Ginny and Sara like to say lately - "half in fun and whole in earnest". "Me? Right now? At your own risk and no refunds. What's up?"  
  
I sighed helplessly. "That's just it. Aloud, it sounds like nothing."  
  
"So what's 'nothing'?"  
  
"Nothing is the CC, Ron, Sara Blustovadk, the Weasley triplets, the war, Snape, and Nicole Skylark."  
  
"That sounds like more than nothing."  
  
"I don't know…" I mumbled. "It's just so much at once. I'm going to kill Fleur Delacour. She's… she's… _petty_. We can't _afford_ to be petty right now. Along with the rest of the CC. Well, not the whole rest. Just most of it. Why can't Dumbledore just get rid of Mr. Bell? What sort of purpose is he serving? And those three nurses are airheads. We need more people like Snuffles and Marlana Payne."  
  
Harry chuckled hollowly. "You know how contradictory that sounded?" Miss Payne has a personal mission to capture Sirius.   
  
"Yeah. But the point is, she can't be blamed for that, and otherwise… she's awesome. And Mrs. Gondola and Mrs. Turpin are doing all right, and Lupin is doing well, but most of the rest I want to strangle."  
  
"Including Fleur," Harry continued with a hint of amusement.  
  
"Including her… as she's the problem at hand,_ especially_ her. And then there's Sara Blustovadk. Harry, I don't know why I don't like her… I just _don't_. Her marks are better than mine in Charms!"  
  
He made a heroic attempt not to snicker outright.   
  
"And Ms. Skylark…" I repeated the conversation to Harry. He was a bit to out of it to make any more sense of it than I had. "I felt as if I can trust her. But it seems you can't trust _anyone_ now…"  
  
"If she might have hurt us, Dumbledore wouldn't let her in," Harry said confidently, but continued soberly: "I remember when I first met Hagrid, he was talking about when Voldemort first rose. Said… said you didn't dare get friendly with strangers… didn't know who to trust."  
  
I nodded. "That's how I feel." And then I told him what Ms. Skylark had said as I slipped by her to get to the hospital wing. I tried to talk with her, but she just looked at me and said while it was a pleasure meeting me to not expect to see her again. Ever.  
  
"Sounds like she's committing suicide or something," Harry mused.  
  
I shuddered. Harry yawned for real. "Sorry. Tired, I guess. Don't tell the jailer."  
  
I supposed he was referring to Madam Pomfrey, the person who has repeatedly saved his life.  
  
"Sorry. I'll leave, if you want."  
  
"I'm afraid you'll commit murder. Hermione, Ron's my friend. Please don't. And Sara - wait 'til after the match. Gryffindor needs a Seeker."  
  
I rolled my eyes again. "All right. Oh, and one last thing. You're right; it's Ron. Harry, I won't kill him, as you're best friend… but…Ron… oh, for heavens' sakes. He drives me_ insane_."  
  
"I noticed," Harry replied dryly.   
  
**Short chapter, but stay tuned for the Gryffindor/Slytherin match... and when will Drothl discover the Weasley triplet ruse? (Of course she will. That's a stupid question.) Will Fleur come to her senses, is Nicole Skylark evil, will Hermione and Ron ever talk again, when will Voldemort strike, and, most pressing... _can we kill off the people who keep cutting in on Hermione and Ron? _*grin* **  
  
**Also, the future chapters will be shorter, but I can't stand the document file style I used during the last two chapters is YUCK!! I like the txt one, like this, better. But hopefully that means they'll be up faster! -- Rheanna**  
  
  
  
  



	10. Life Is More Than A Quidditch Game...

  


***Due to extreme pressure from dahling reviewers, here's your next chapter, this weekend. So don't blame me if it's a little short.  
  
Thanks to my lovely reviewers, though. Julietta, who wrote the nicest, longest, most informative review I have received -- :-) -- and Isa, my long-time supporter. If it hadn't been for Isa and Lavender Ice, I would have let writer's block claim this story a little while ago and started something else, giving up on this. So if you enjoy this, send them a big thank-you in the form of reviews! *wink* Julietta, I hope my e-mail covered everything, and thanks for bringing up "action scenes". Never fear, they shall come. (Hopefully. Oops, just kidding!) Isa, I still love ya, even if you weren't the first. *smile* I must warn you however, only four people have ever called my "Rhe". One is my _pregnant _mother, the other a teacher, and I am not on speaking terms with the other two.  
  
Ahem. *grin*  
  
This chapter gave me some trouble, 'cause I know what I'm doing after the next couple chapters... I just have to *get* there. I have a good Christmas chapter (with one of the large doses of Sirius I promised!) and I want to reveal Sara's idenity so I can upload another fic I have in my head. This is sort of hard to get started on. Luckily, my brother had a really boring basketball game today, so I just wrote away.  
  
SoS -- Speaking of Sara: The dormitory scene will be dropped as soon as I get around to it. And no, this isn't a one-sided feud. Sara's no angel, as you shall soon see, and she has ways of infuriating people when she feels so inclined. *cackles*  
  
CC -- In an upcoming fic, there will be a mission statement of the CC, which will hopefully clear it up a bit. If anyone else is confused, you can always email me at tmacias@aol.com or better yet, leave a review with your email. *grin* Sorry, I just want more than two reviews on my thirteen chaptered story! That looks dreadful!  
  
Okay, now that my rambling is over, on with the chapter: **  


  
  
  
1 November  
  
Ron blew up at me this morning.  
  
He caught up with me as I was walking with Ginny to the Great Hall for breakfast. He squeezed around the people surrounding a pale Gryffindor Quidditch team and worked his way over to me, scowling darkly.  
  
"Good morning, dearest elder brother mine," Ginny smiled brightly, causing me to giggle. Ron's scowl increased in size.  
  
"Go away, Ginny. _Hermione_ and I have to talk," he growled.  
  
Ginny tossed her head, scowled, and stalked off to comfort a pale Sara.  
  
Naturally, this did not set well with me. I inclined my head and glared at Ron. "What?"  
  
"Where did you go last night?" he demanded angrily.  
  
I glowered. "As if it's any of your concern. I'm sure Miss Bocklehurst entertained you mightily."  
  
You'd've thought I had slapped him across the face. "Bloody hell, Hermione!"  
  
"Watch your mouth!" I snapped out of habit.  
  
It didn't improve his mood. "Quit it! I'll say what I want to!"  
  
"And go off with whatever girl you want to! Why didn't you just stay with Diana?"  
  
"Because I wanted to go with you!"  
  
"Then why'd you abandon me?"  
  
"All I did was dance with a few other girls and you run off!" he hollered. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I'm allowed to talk with another girl at a Fling!"  
  
I got angry at being yelled at - naturally. "Viktor would have never left me like that," I said, in an all too calm and cool tone.  
  
"_I'm not that damn gentleman Krum!_" Ron fumed.  
  
"Trust me, I know," I said coolly, turning on my heel. Behind me, Ron fumed by hiss incoherently. People were starting to stare and titter.  
  
"Hermione?" asked Lavender.  
  
"What?" I snapped.  
  
"Why do you even bother with him after Viktor Krum?"  
  
I turned at her furiously. "_I do not bother with Ronald Weasley_!" I shouted. Oh, denial, denial.   
  
Ginny and Sara burst out laughing. A lot of colour returned to the latter's face; the former was just giggling helplessly.  
  
Fuming and face red as a Quaffle (ah, the spirit of Quidditch), I stalked to the Great Hall and ate in silence. Alicia was trying to calm the nerves of the team while she was the palest and most nervous of the lot. Fred and George, naturally, were dealing with the pressure… no, not by going over Quidditch tatics. They were putting the finishing touches on David Stebbins, who's playing "Davy" again. Somehow, I have a feeling their little ruse is going to be revealed soon.  
  
I cast an eye over at Malfoy. I can't watch. You know, he's not that bad a flyer. Without Harry… what if Slytherin wins?  
  
Oh, please, no.   
  
I notice he seems confident, more so than when he plays Harry, but he's also glancing at Sara warily, and I'm remembering them when on the train… they had known each other before. I wonder how. Perhaps because she really is related to Drothl, and the Drothls are pals with the Malfoys? But, you know, Draco and Sara don't like each other.  
  
Speaking of which, I'm watching Sara like a hawk with Harry's Firebolt. Luckily, she is taking good care of it. She's not_ that_ stupid… oh, all right… she's not stupid, really - just annoying.  
  
After a year's absence of Quidditch, the whole of the school was incredibly pumped. (I don't think it helped the nerves of Jason, Candy, and Blustovadk, or even the veterans. Candy Designer was… whoa. Bouncy, bouncy, bounce, bounce, bounce - the Weasley twins have a rival for excited anticipation.) Some people went all out. The Creeveys and their friends (but mainly the Creeveys, Natalie McDonald pointedly informed us) had a banner worse than the one I helped with in our first year. This thing was lividly lucid and Hagrid-sized. Several fourth-year Slytherins were making a fortune off "merchandise". ("Poorly made, I suppose," Sara smiled at one Slytherin pleasantly as she declined." I just wished Harry was there to enjoy it… and that Ron and I could…  
  
Ron watched the game with Seamus, Dean, and Neville. I went off with Ginny and some of her friends… sans David Stebbins. I felt rather out of place, and remembered the saying on Alyn's calendar for the day:   
  
_Friends don't expect you to be perfect.  
In fact, they are astonished when you are._  
  
And then, of course, I snorted.   
  
Lee Jordan was in rare form for his last year as commentator. Prof. McGonagall likely had the worst headache…  
  
(I asked her about it later. She said wryly that there used to be multiple commentators. "Then for three years we had a pairing of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. I said that was the end of that.)   
  
"Hello, and welcome back! Remember me? I'm your drop-dead gorgeous commentator, Lee Jordan, at the first match of his last year. Oh, come now, don't cry too hard, ladies…"  
  
Honestly. Some girls _cheered_ and found that funny - or, worse, true.   
  
"Presenting… the Gryffindors! Miss Spinnet, Miss Bell, two of the Mr. Weasleys, newcomers Miss Designer - daughter of legend Carla Harming, by the way - Mr. Leffler, and fill-in Miss Blustovadk. All those Slytherins grinning stupidly, just goes to show you don't think you can win without Seeker Potter out of action…"  
  
"Jordan…"  
  
"Er, anyway. That's the Gryffindors! Oh, what, the opposers? Why bother? Oh, okay, all _right_… Slytherins: headed by_ their_ new Captain Montague. New Chasers Misters Diehl and Chrism; Beaters Derrick and Kent, and Seeker Malfoy." The lack of enthusiasm in Lee's voice was evident.   
  
Katie took absolutely no time in scoring the first goal. Derrick, annoyed, pounded a Bludger her way. Montague replied with a goal of his own. Then, for a long time, there was no scoring. Why? Two reasons; good news and bad news.  
  
The good news was that Fred and George are excellent Beaters and that Jason Leffler, while he wasn't Oliver Wood, did quite well, excellently, in fact. But Candy Designer! She just… wasn't a team player. She didn't pass when passing was the obvious choice; she made stupid mistakes… oh, she just wasn't ready. Later, when I saw Harry, he looked downright haggard. He said he had been watching Candy and getting a terrible headache.   
  
Of course, to be fair, it was Candy's first game. Furthermore, Alicia and Katie were used to Angelina, and it can be difficult, being the odd person of the trio. But she just didn't have their chemistry at all. I'm no expert, but unless I miss my guess, Candy won't be a Chaser for very long; I'm sorry. Seamus grinned and said it looked like she was trying to play hooky from Potions, not Quidditch.  
  
Speaking of which, Snape looked actually amused for the first time all year, watching Candy. Although Snape amused isn't a whole lot better than Snape moody. It's Snape angry you've got to watch for. But he was following Candy with his dark eyes fixed, with a sort of amused sneer.  
  
But then I remembered what he's doing. Well, if he can find comfort from something, I won't begrudge him it.  
  
Soon Slytherin had a lead of 60-20 (Candy, in fact, made the other score. However, when Alicia nearly scored, it was Candy who got in her way, so she's still not on solid ground. Pardon the pun.) The gold-and-scarlet side of the playing field seemed to droop.  
  
I glanced around for Drothl suddenly, wondering which House she would support.  
  
She wasn't at the game at all. Which somewhat ruled out the Sara "Drothl" theory - you would think Drothl would be watching Sara play if my theory was correct. But then, that might just be to not arouse suspicion, after all.  
  
Sara… oh, I'm not above admitting she was flying quite well. She was nowhere near the talent of Harry, but who is? She was doing pretty well. Of course, if you look at it technically, that might have been because she had a Firebolt.   
  
Then, finally, Alicia and Katie got annoyed and started flying so fast Candy couldn't keep up with them. Using beautiful teamwork, they scored.  
  
Right as Lee was excitedly telling us the new score, Malfoy and Blustovadk tore off to the Slytherin end of the field.  
  
"And I think the Snitch has been spotted!" Lee cried.  
  
_Bump - bump - bump_ - they were practically on top of each other, limbs knocking together. It looked almost a little painful, but neither seemed to notice.  
  
Then Kent, who had swung mightily, sent a Bludger over. Personally, I was thinking that was a stupid move, since his own teammate was just as likely to get hit. Both averted it when Malfoy _pushed_ Sara into the line of fire.  
  
CRACK! Everyone winced as Sara's ankle broke and Madam Hooch tried to blow her whsitle -- but it came out like a screech and was ignored.  
  
Blustovadk barely seemed to notice. She veered sharply and kept pelting along, her ankle at an angle it should never, never be. Then, with a bit of Slytherin cunning, she turned sharply - into Malfoy.  
  
Malfoy was forced to go way left, out of the way. Sara tore along and_ just_ managed to snatch the Snitch.  
  
The stadium, per usual, exploded into raucous cheers. Hagrid looked pleased for the first time since his assistants came along. Alicia whooped right along with Fred and George for joy. The Gryffindor supporters got to the field quickly to offer congratulations. Blustovadk bobbed down slowly. Lee found her and planted her a kiss on the cheek; Sara smiled weakly, taken extremely off guard, and then fell back to the ground - her ankle.  
  
"Please don't trample me," she begged in a murmur, almost comically.  
  
"Hospital wing," Alicia said, somewhat worriedly, but more thrilled than anything else. "Okay?"  
  
"I'm alive, aren't I?" Sara retorted. "Where's dear Draco?"  
  
Dear Draco had disappeared.  
  
"Too bad," Sara sighed, allowing the Weasleys to help her up. She grinned at them. "Doesn't this look familiar?"  
  
"Same ankle Malfoy broke on the train?" George asked.  
  
She grinned wryly. "Something about the left side ankle that he loves. Remind me to send him a Christmas card."  
  
I was surprised, when I decided to go in with Fred, George, and Sara, to find Harry awake and bright-eyed. "Great job! We won! That was some flying."  
  
I was dismayed. "You were watching the game?"  
  
"Yeah, I saw it from the window," he replied, indicating with his hand.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry, I would have stayed to keep you company…"  
  
"Don't worry about it. Sara, are you all right? Nice job."  
  
She grinned. "I will be."  
  
Madam Pomfrey knew that to be true - broken ankles are nothing to her - but it didn't stop her usual barrage of complaints and dark predictions of the lives of today's teenagers. I didn't wait around; I followed the twins to the common room - or tried to.  
  
"Naw, we need to get party supplies," Fred announced. "Don't suppose you would want to visit?"  
  
"Yeah, what about your elf friends?" George persisted.  
  
"I'm working on it," I replied confidently.  
  
George winked. "Come on, I remember my fifth year. No way you're doing that _and _doing homework."  
  
"Glad you trust my capabilities so much," I muttered on my way through Gryffindor Tower.  
  
And now I suppose I should_ join_ that party. Toasts have been going around to everyone, including Jason Leffler's great-great-grandmother. ("If Jasmine Eglin hadn't married who she did, Jason wouldn't be here and we might not have won the game!") Really, thought. Alicia is a hero because as Oliver's successor she won her first game. Katie scored one of our two goals. Fred and George were their general terrific selves. Sara is an instant celebrity. Jason is getting quite a treatment for a splendid debut game. Parvati hasn't left his elbow all night.  
  
Candy is keeping her head down quietly, knowing everyone is more or less cool in enthusiasm toward her. In fact, I feel a little sorry for her. But she_ had _been so full of herself. And Ron was especially nasty. Ron. _Ron_. Oh. Why wouldn't he be more like… oh, Jason. Quiet, low-key, considerate, clever…  
  
1 November, later  
  
Considering, it's not surprise. Alicia had a long private talk with Candy. When it was over, Candy looked a little rebellious, which was a bit of a giveaway to Alicia's announcement.   
  
"Ahem," Alicia began, and the room quieted just enough to listen. "Candy, Katie, and I have been talking. And while we agree Candy Designer has the potential to be a terrific player, we think she could benefit from a year as a reverse for the experience." (The polite way of saying it.) The room buzzed. While playing Seeker was taboo, due to Charlie and Harry's brilliance, Chaser was a different matter. "Sara Blustovadk? We'd like you to be our third Chaser."  
  
Blustovadk's eyes lit up, but she shook her head. "Sorry, but I can't. Haven't a broom."  
  
Alicia, Katie, Fred, and George considered this for a moment. Finally the huddle broke and Alicia said: "Listen. We don't play Ravenclaw until spring. You use a school broom; we'll see what happens then. Like George said, you might get something for Christmas, or as Katie reminded us, if any of us get a new broom, you can keep the old one."  
  
The headache I got from the cheering at the match increased.  
  
  
3 November  
  
  
**Letters: **  
  
**Dad:** "Honey", he's just thrilled that I decided to come home from Christmas. (Ah, he should know my vows and their seriousness by now.) Did I remember the Roberts? They were a doctor couple, acquaintances. They've recently had a terrible family tragedy and he and Mum invited them over for Christmas, so I had better clean up my act and be a good girl for company - (tongue-in-cheek). I'm not to work too hard, like Mum is right now. All the best from home.  
  
**Mum:** She sent her wishes in Dad's letter, 'cause Mummy's such a bad little workaholic she couldn't find time to write this week.   
**  
Anna: **No word. Frankly, I'm concerned.   
  
**Viktor: **Practices have been grueling lately. They're considering "letting go" of Alexandrian Zograf. The weather in Bulgaria was muddy and nasty. Even those children from the park were inside. How was I doing, and how did the Quidditch match go? (Honestly - what's with men and Quidditch? In Morgana's name!)  
  
**Alyn:** Hasn't written this week; I suppose he's busy.  
  
**Bill: **In Red Lion (a town, not a pub, by the way), he thinks John appeared. One of the neighbourhood residents (a teenage girl) states a man came to her and sprouted off "gibberish". He wrote: "It's frustrating she can't remember exactly_ what_ he said, except something about 'captured' and 'attack next', which spooked her. This mystery fellow fits John's description and behaviour, however. Charlie's been tracing dominions. Thus far, none he found have been in Diagon Alley the past year."  
  
Grrrrr.  
  
Fleur kindly overruled. Funny, though - Ginny states she saw Snape "having words" with her before she conceded. Coincidence? I think not. So finally we can send that letter! It only took us about a month or so! Luckily, we don't need approval from anyone but the second level - the group we met at the Three Broomsticks. If we had any more people, I'd burst. Interestingly enough, I hear Mr. Page has a handsome young nephew, which explains a few things, doesn't it?  
  
Oh, and good news! Harry's set to be released from the hospital wing on the 7th!  
  
  
4 November  
  
Red Lion was attacked last night. Dumbledore announced it this morning, and rumours are flying everywhere. Ernie MacMillian is an interesting source of information - since it probably bares a little resemblance to the truth and is wildly captivating.  
  
As far as I can figure, no Dark Mark was left… strange. Two people are missing. Some Exploding Spells were sent - Ernie swears his very own great-aunt heard the words "Reducto". Memories of all the Muggles living there had to be wiped big-time, and worse, one of the missing ones is a Muggle. Luckily, she had no family to speak of, so it's easier to cover. I've also heard rumours of everything from a fire-breathing cat to several loose werewolves to Kapykoae, not all of which I'm ready to believe.  
  
So, in any case, we still sent out the "please be on watch for any Dark Activity" letters the CC made… all rather laughable, don't you agree? And now we need to plan a new course of action. What to tell now? What to do? How much can letters combat this?  
  
Harry was so upset it was surprising when Ron and I put up with each other long enough to tell him. He came very close to crying, much to my astonishment and Ron's awkwardness.  
  
"The, er, Order of the Phoenix -" Ron began uncertainly.  
  
Harry glared at us. "What? The Order of the Phoenix? Exactly what is that doing? Nothing. He's attacked; he's killed people. They couldn't stop it and they never could. What exactly is it?"  
  
Before I could explain, Madam Pomfrey kicked us out, and Ron said that was a good thing.  
  
It was my turn to glare. "Why?" I asked shortly.  
  
"Because he didn't want some big long textbook paragraph. He wanted to know_ what_ it was, not the facts about it."  
  
I bristled. "Well, that what I would have told him. The Order of the Phoenix is an order of protection -"  
  
"Let me rephrase that," Ron rolled his eyes. "He wants to understand how it helps."  
  
"Well, when he actually sees an attack, like he's so anxious to do since he wants to help so badly, I guess he'll find out, won't he?" I snapped, turning away.  
  


**Next Chapter: An important meeting, an arguement (no, not Hermione and Ron), and progress in the CC... well, sort of. Meanwhile, you can read my "Serendipity", or Voltora's "The Greatest Gift", or Jedi Bodicea, who finally updated "Memories of Tomorrow: Dreams of Yesterday"! **  



	11. In Which Carquel Enters The Puzzle Of Wa...

**A/N: The Big Question: Can Rheanna be forgived for taking a whole week on this chapter? Dunno... will it help if I told you my newest little brother was born Monday, and that slowed me down? (Hermione would be ashamed of how much I got away with in school because of Austin!) In any case, I DID get this up before Christmas, and c'mon, I write faster than a lot of writers. :-) No promises, but I try very hard to write a chapter and a half per week. Would it also help to know I'm writing a fic on the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan that I hope to get up soon?  
  
This chapter: Carquel Gets Added To The Puzzle  
  
Dedicated to: Austin and my reviewers, as usual. :-)  
  
Written under the infulence of: The Beatles' _Day Tripper _, the Eagles _Already Gone_, and CCR's _Bad Moon Rising_, among others.  
  
Listen, guys, on the entry about the CC meeting... I wrote it half asleep, using the Beatles to keep myself awake. (I've been half-asleep for weeks; how does Remus handle being in this state so much? Gosh, it's annoying as heck....) I would write a paragraph and lean back on my bed just savouring the softness and comfort, considering going asleep! Then I got as far as I did, looked down, and said: "Okay, that's enough, I can't take anymore, History of Magic just ended!" Sorry, but I think you got an idea of the CC meetings, which was a fourth of the intent. :-)**  
  
**The Sirius Chapter: I know, I said it would be at Christmas. Sorry, I met Hermione's Christmas, not mine! (Think what a great present Siruis would be at Christmas... *grin*)   
  
The Roberts: No, I forgot all about the Roberts in Goblet of Fire. I was thinking of the Roberts Remus met in _Nine Days Old _(not posted yet). But I think I can consider making them relatives now that it was brought to my attention.   
  
Julia: I read your e-mail on You-Know-What. Wow, girl, you do your research! I'll try to get back with you for my own ideas on how to work it in.  
  
Brittany: Sorry I haven't caught you and my email was so short! Merry Christmas, girlfriend!  
Lavender Ice: I'm thrilled you think so. :-)  
  
Isa: Sorry I haven't caught you either! We'll have to do that before school starts again!  
  
All reviewers: Thank you indeed. *big hearty handshake* Thanks for all your support and ideas!  
Now, I suppose I should stop rambling and get with it? *grin***  
  
**On Marlana Payne: Brit, remember her from another of my fics? *grin* She was a minor character in another fic that I erased from my account. I meant for her to be that.... but minor characters have a habit of taking over.   
  
On Carquel: I'll try to explain more about him. Hermione already does, so she didn't go into specfics. Let's see, the only person he respects is Dumbledore, Remus thinks of him as the "Nowhere Man" from a Beatle song, he developed the Wolfsbane Potion and gave Hagrid the idea for Blast-Ended Skrewts, and I'll have other fics on him eventually. :-) Sounds interesting? (He's a sad, sad genius.)  
  
On Hermione's thoughts on Mercy Gondola: She's a fifteen-year-old. She'll be second-guessing herself and wishing she was better. It's teenagerhood. Personally, I think Hermione Granger is a pretty name... just Hermione doesn't. :-)**  
  


  
7 November  
  
  
Ron refused to talk with me since Monday. Today, however, Harry was finally released from the hospital wing, and whether he admitted it or not, they needed my help. A good portion of the school went crazy over his return. Ginny suggested getting Harry a tag to wear on his robes that read: "I'm feeling just fine, thank you, and am delighted to be back. Thank you very much for your concern." Harry told her instantly to make nothing of the sort… you know how sensitive he is to looking "big-headed". But it was the most practical idea I ever heard, and trust me, it would have saved everyone involved a lot of breath. Harry was caught in a crowd the entire day, barely able to get from class to class. Ron said I was nearly as bad as some of the adoring Ravenclaws - I _did_ ask Harry if he was getting too tired, oh, sixty-two times an hour. Well, sorry! I was concerned, and Madam Pomfrey said that if he got tired he should _rest_.  
  
Harry laughed in my face when he heard that.  
  
Well!  
  
However, we have a meeting of the CC tonight in the Transfiguration room. Harry glanced at me sideways before I could say a thing and said pointedly that he was up to handling_ that._  
  
"Yes, two hours of Mr. Page, Mr. Bell, and Fleur is completely relaxing," I agreed in false cheerful brightness.  
  
"Compared to Malfoy, it is." Malfoy was having a field day with him.  
  
"Ignore him," I said sympathetically.  
  
"Sure. If he curses me, I'll just ignore it," he replied.  
  
I hoped Sirius could put him in a better mood when he came to the meeting.  
  
The six of us - level one - have met every day since the attack in Red Lion. This is the first time level two came along as well. I foresee complications, between the little grudges everyone is harbouring. The first level didn't really come up with much other than a draft of the warning letter. I notice that since the first level is mainly just schoolchildren, we're handicapped - our hands are seriously tied.  
  
Drothl is the only person in the school who doesn't look tense. Oh, no, not Drothl. Just goes about her business calmly and coolly. Instruct the students, eat, grade papers, sleep, and very pointedly don't read the _Daily Prophet_. Some people, as Sara pointed out, have nerves of steel. She was watching Drothl as she said it while a group of students were discussing the attack in low voices and looking whiter than she had before the match.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, forcedly polite.  
  
"How can she stand that?"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Getting up there and explaining the ins and outs of vampires at a time like this?"  
  
Sara wouldn't comment further. I'm trying to figure out if it's purely the attack that bothers her, or something else.   
  
Parvati just throws her dark-haired head around and says unconcernedly that it's really just a little thing highly coloured. Lavender doesn't look half so sure but doesn't comment on it greatly. But then she rarely does. Except when she needs her constant reassurance from us - especially at night.  
  
"What if he attacks Hogwarts?"  
  
"He never touched Hogwarts before; I expect he's clever enough to know he's no match for Dumbledore," I'll reply bracingly.  
  
"That was before. What about now?"  
  
"He wouldn't date. He doesn't even have half the support and fear he had fifteen years ago and didn't attack then. He won't try now for a good long while," Sara will tell her, voice slightly flat. "I'll let you know when to worry, 'kay?"  
  
"Maybe not even Hogwarts. Hogsmeade?"  
  
"Again, he wouldn't," Parvati will state. "It's too close to here, and even if he did, it's no harm to us."  
  
Lavender still worries, partly being Muggle-born, ignorant of happenings during You-Know-Who's first rise, and all the talk of the CC. I don't blame her.  
  
  
8 November  
  
  
  
The saying on the calendar Alyn sent me read today:  
  
_Nobody is perfect. Therefore, to wish to be perfect is to wish to be nobody._  
  
I wish someone would tell Fleur that - and that someone would tell Page and Bell that they're gits. I wish I could record the CC meeting last night, but I'm buried under a pile of homework - mainly the doing of Snape and Drothl. (Who else?)  
  
  
11 November  
  
  
  
Well, I listened to the calendar and decided to give up on being perfect myself. Also, I want to record the meeting while I still remember at least some of the conversation. Since Prof. Binns will never notice and my chance at being Head Girl is shot anyway, I'll write in my diary in History of Magic - which is right now. Luckily, I sat in the back of class so no one can look over my shoulder. (How annoying that is - beyond words.) I'll get the notes off Dean later. Did I mention Dean was the other prefect from Gryffindor?  
  
I don't think I've explained much about the meeting except that they occur and what the general outcome is. Since I now have time, I suppose this is a good opportunity.  
  
The meetings are held in the same room off the Great Hall the champions were ushered into last year… small, in comparison to the Hall, with a comfortable fireplace and portraits staring down the CC interestedly as we, erm, debate. There's a long table in it, rather like a House table, but not quite that long, seated for about twenty. (Harry informed me that it's a recent addition, probably for the CC.)   
  
It may sound like a lack of security, but from what I can gather, the room has many complicated protective charms on it. (Fleur is the keeper of these. I notice Dumbledore is handing out responsibilities to a lot of _other_ people many would expect him to do. In one way, it's good to know he's so foreseeing. On the other hand, it's worrisome. Does he think he - and therefore we - is in so much danger?)  
  
The one in which level two was invited (they are senior members, and with the attack in Red Lion, it's getting serious) was to start at nine o'clock, evening. Harry and I set down at eight-thirty and found Marlana Payne and Jimmy Page already there. They grew abruptly silent as we arrived at the end of the Hall. Page glared sullenly and stalked inside the meeting room. Miss Payne gave her version of warmness - a tight smile. That's as mellow as she gets around people she doesn't know. But I heard she's one of Dumbledore's best agents against the Dark Side.  
  
After Mr. Page entered, Charles Rossington exited, looking thoroughly relived to see us three. Mr. Rossington is about the age of Professor McGonagall, maybe a tad younger, although he looks older. It's funny - he looks so grandfatherly and he co-wrote _The Monster Book of Monsters_!  
  
Fleur and Lisa and Chelsea came next. Shortly after, Lupin and Sirius arrived. Or, shall I say, Padfoot. We knew from a quick glance _not_ to mention Sirius.  
  
"Say, Rem, I didn't know you had a dog," Miss Payne grinned - much more warmly, this time. She let Sirius sniff her hand before gently rubbing him on the head.  
  
I had a hard time keeping a straight face. There was Marlana Payne, who for two years had spent blood, sweat, and tears hunting down Sirius. And there she was petting him - not having the faintest idea! The irony! I had to bite the insides of my cheeks. "Can I call Page out here and see if he gets nipped?" she continued hopefully.  
  
"No, you may not, but you will," Lupin grinned.  
  
"Say, Jimmy!" Miss Payne called. Page came out, glaring about in general, looking at Fleur like she was from another planet, at Lupin with decided revulsion, and Miss Payne with very decided hatred. She smiled at him all too brightly.  
  
"Harry, perhaps you'd kindly take Snuffles? He's - uneasy, in new surroundings," Lupin suggested, ignoring the face Page and Miss Payne were obviously plotting to murder the other. I smiled to myself and sighed in relief. I was so glad Harry and Sirius got some time to talk.  
  
Another irony was when Lupin and Miss Payne talked. He was helping - very heavily, I might add - harbour the man she wanted to kill, whom she detested - yet Marlana Payne, from what I've seen, gives Remus Lupin respect second only to Albus Dumbledore, which says something. It's_ such_ a paradox, how it works out… though it might be handy to Sirius if Payne ever finds him.  
  
Ernie came in time to greet Mrs. Turpin and Mrs. Gondola. Mrs. Turpin used to be a popular Quidditch co-commentator, and yes, that's Lisa's mother (also named Lisa). Lisa doesn't look like her mother; I suppose her looks are her father's. Mrs. Gondola is drop-dead gor -  
  
Sorry. Had to get Ron to bug off.  
  
Mr. Bell (who looks so much like a young pig it's scary) escorted the Three Nurses - I can't think of them as anything else anymore, and in my mind I can just see the capitals. The Three Nurses were doused in so much perfume I had a hard time not choking, and when Harry and Sirius came back out, Snuffles pretended to be "snuffling" from the fumes. Amused and biting his lip, but ever so polite, Lupin nudged him, and for one moment they looked like Ron and Harry on any given day.  
  
Before Fleur motioned us in, Marlana Payne was leaning against the wall, eyes fixed lightly on the Nurses, looking vaguely amused and distinctly disdainful. Probably at the Nurses' girlishness. Miss Payne is tough; that's a given fact. And for a witch, she's rather… modern. The magical world is a bit old-fashioned. Miss Payne wears her hair in a short crop, and that's_ that_.   
  
When everyone was seated, I stood, since I was voted as the highest rank of us five. "Good evening," I began shakily, but then I gained confidence. All I have to do is state greeting and the purpose of the meeting, and quickly review what level one did, and if I can't do that much, I don't think I'm worthy to be a Gryffindor!  
  
"So we're back to guessing You-Know-Who's movements again," grumbled Page, leaning back in his chair. "Cat-and-mouse while he destroys."  
  
Miss Payne glanced witheringly at him before smiling broadly in false brightness. "That's okay, Jimmy. If it's too much on your poor nerves, we can send you off to help Gus Fletcher. That'll suit?"  
  
Fleur glared at her, but several other furtive smiles circled the room, not in the least cut short when she said sharply: "Miss Payne."  
  
Miss Payne met her glance squarely. "Mademoiselle Delacour?"   
  
"We must all work together," Fleur said coolly.  
  
"Exactly. Right. _All_ of us with e_verybody_," Miss Payne nods deadpan in agreement.  
  
See what I mean about pettiness? Luckily, Lupin gave her a warning glance and Mrs. Gondola cut in. "Then let's begin, shall we? Marlana, you have the papers on everything the Dark Lord has right now?"  
  
Miss Payne took out a roll of parchment and passed it around. She recited from memory of Bell examined it. "Death Eaters - we believe at least ten returned to him. Very likely many more." I glanced at Harry. Miss Payne, in turn, glared at Page pointedly. "We'd have to conclude that at least some the Ministry 'accidentally' acquitted."  
  
Page scowled.  
  
"Luckily, our agents have been very helpful. No known giants have been recruited. Due to security measures and harbouring, our Seer has not been captured."  
  
"Like Trelawney? What a pity," Chelsea murmured.  
  
"The rumour of a 'werewolf attack squad' is true. We've estimated about seven."   
  
"Wonder how we managed to get that number," Bell glowered, staring pointedly at Lupin.  
  
"Agents," Miss Payne replied crisply without missing a beat. "We've convinced Gus Fletcher not to double-play." Seeing how us junior members looked confused, she explained: "Sell his goods and services to both the Light and Dark Sides." Our jaws dropped. "Yeah, the man has no scruples, does he? However, they do have another craftsman. We're not sure whom."  
  
Page scoffed loudly. "Let's see, who could that be? Hmm. Let's think. Oh, Sirius Black?"  
  
"Was Black a craftsman? I don't recall him immersed in charms and such. He was a mechanic, wasn't he?" Mrs. Turpin said.  
  
"That's right. You'd think the Dark Lord would do it himself, if it came to Black," Mrs. Gondola nodded.  
  
"Perhaps his werewolf accomplice could tell us of Black's recent skills," suggested Page.  
  
There was a long silence as Page tried to stare Lupin down, but Lupin's eyes were fixed on Miss Payne's scroll. Realizing that one was talking until he replied, he glanced at Page. "If I find the accomplice in question, I'll be sure to let you know."  
  
Miss Payne, grinning, kept reciting: "Whereabouts: unknown. Last known to have a branch of followers in Albania. Recent attack at Red Lion believed to be his work." Her tone changed from secretarial to conversational: "You do know why he would pick that, right?"  
  
There were several short, tense nods.  
  
"Why?" asked Lisa bluntly.  
  
Now more than several glances were exchanged, when Ms. Platt said: "James Potter was born there."  
  
I looked at Harry anxiously. His expression was carefully blank.  
  
"Because it's a half-and-half village," Miss Payne countered. "He gets to stir up both communities."  
  
"How much of zis do we inform ze populace?" Fleur inquired.  
  
"Everything," said Mrs. Turpin instantly. "It's the only way to prepare everyone, and that was a big mistake last time."  
  
"But if it gets intercepted," I spoke up hesitantly, "they know how much we know."  
  
"Exactly," nodded Mr. Page. I was astonished that we could actually agree upon something. I had been silently fuming at him.  
  
"The whole purpose of the Chain was not to reveal strategy, but to inform without the, er, distortion of the media. We _must_ inform of the recent happenings as accurately as we can. Voldemort -" Lupin ignored various flinches and an outright gasp from the Nurses " - will gain just as much of an advantage if his victims are uninformed. Either way, we're slicing off our own wrists, and no doubt we can gain from this course of action rather than the other.  
  
"However, as stated many, many times, most recently by Miss Granger, there's really no point in informing anyone not involved in the particular missions about what we're doing. Likely it'll only cause disturbances, and the less people who know, the better a chance we have of it remaining secret."  
  
I was utterly amazed that Lupin had just said about two paragraphs, and no one even argued them. That was a first.  
  
"So, in English terms," Miss Payne grinned wryly, "we state what we know are facts or are very likely to be facts, but nothing else."  
  
"And encourage them to bring any questions to the Chain," Lupin smiled at her.  
  
"Right," Mrs. Gondola nodded. "I think we all needed that clarification."  
  
"Am I the only one that's lost?" Ernie hissed.  
  
"And while we're drafting and sending owls, we also have to try and gather as much information as we can so we can predict and warn if necessary," added Mavis Johansson, entering. "Sorry I'm late. Got anything accomplished?"  
  
I'm positive she was late intentionally for the express purpose of saying those words and making certain people feel guilty.   
  
Mrs. Johansson, an able-bodied young woman of maybe forty-ish with long thick blonde hair, chose a chair. "My prediction for the next attack is Oxford." In one breath, she rattled off a list of reasons with this incredible energy that fired everyone up.  
  
There were several tentative nods.   
  
"Carquel's stronghold," Lupin said. "Sorry, Mavis, my apologies, but I truly believe that's in just as much danger, if not more, than Oxford."  
  
"No problem at all. Just answer me a question. Why do you think so?"  
  
"Because of all the… well… _stuff_… in there?" asked Miss Payne.  
  
Lupin nodded. "What's in there, definitely. And in his mind."  
  
"Elaborate," Mr. Page ordered sharply. "How would we know? Carquel doesn't reveal anything he does. For all we know he makes the whole lines of Droobles' Sweets, not the supposed great-and-mighty breakthroughs it's rumoured."   
  
"Ever see a self-spelling wand?" Lupin asked casually. Page and Bell looked at him suspiciously, clearly wondering where this was going. "'Cause I have."  
  
"Probably something your wild backwoods werewolf pack chanced upon," Bell muttered loudly and distinctly. "Maybe even the same one you were terrorizing Red Lion with on the 3rd?"  
  
Lupin didn't move and his gaze met Bell's just as steadily, but something in his eyes looked deadened, hollow, as if he had been shot. Mrs. Johansson and Miss Payne glared at Bell like poison, Mrs. Turpin and Mr. Rossington regarded Bell levelly, Padfoot growled, but it was Mrs. Gondola who told him off.  
  
"Tiledan, we all know very well that _our_ Rem was in no way involved in any such thing. I hope you understand that as well. Rem, continue."   
  
Did I get around to describing Mrs. Gondola? She's beautiful, with honey-coloured hair, big deep brown eyes, a rosy complexion, and a dazzling sweet smile. Her name before she was married was Mercy Mullen. Isn't that pretty? I like it so much better than awful Hermy-own-ninny Granger. Yes, I admit to being jealous of a married woman twenty years older than myself! She talks and carries herself like a queen, so everyone thinks she is one.  
  
In other words, Bell shut up, and Lupin, with a grateful but smile but looking rather stricken and embarrassed (former from the accusation, the latter from the defence) did continue. "Carquel developed it. The self-spelling wand, I mean. And just about every other thing said to be impossible."  
  
"Wait. Back up. How d'we know this?" asked Ms. Hanson, who had looked completely clueless throughout the whole meeting.  
  
"I - I served him for a year."  
  
Lisa blurted out exactly what I had been thinking: "You taught here a full year and never thought to mention this?" She sounded deeply envious. The _genius_ Carquel. I would die for that chance!  
  
"Didn't have anything to do with any of the subjects, as I recall."  
  
"_Mor_gana," breathed Mrs. Gondola. "Carquel? Really and truly? And I supposed this just slipped your mind last year when you and Ricky were Bertha-Jorkins-hunting in Albania?" She shook her head. "Typical Gryffindor." She caught my eye and grinned. "No offence, Miss Granger. You aren't a typical Gryffindor."   
  
"We figured that out," Lisa nodded. I tried not to blush.  
  
Miss Payne's mind looked transparent; she was thinking a mile a minute. "So it would make sense for him to want Carquel and his knowledge. Got it. So why didn't he attack the stronghold last time?"  
  
"He did. Carquel never mentioned it to anyone. Come on, you know him - or his reputation, which isn't much off. Carquel fended several raids by Death Eaters off, but Voldemort wasn't concentrating on it greatly. But now he's likely desperate; he has to regroup, and quickly. Carquel's stronghold would help him do that more than anything except maybe Hogwarts, but we don't have to worry about that."  
  
Too bad Lavender couldn't have heard that - could have reassured her.   
  
Oh, my goodness - is class over already? History _never_ goes that quickly… okay, to wrap up very hurriedly, **(A/N: Miss Granger's writing grew untidier and untidier as her entry drew to a close) **we spent two long hours drafting letters to send to the third level. We included an account to the best of our knowledge of the recent attack, a warning about strangers, owls from unknown sources, full moon nights, suspicious characters, unidentified broomsticks, odd claims, and to contact their respective branch of the CC if they get any evidence or information on any attacks, past of future. (Rossington jokingly suggested adding Marshall's Village and Jennifer's Forest to our list of hazards. MV and JF don't have much of a reputation, do they?…)  
  
15 November  
  
  
Another problem with the CC - when you get several claims of information on attacks, and many of them are complete bogus… and you have to tell them apart from the certifiable ones.   
  
"Could be worse," Mrs. Johansson, who had stopped by to help level one, assured us as we wrote (hopefully) polite responses. "If everyone believed there was danger, you'd have zillions of claims of information each day, and have to sort through it all. Granted, I'd rather people took this seriously, but it means a lot of paper. I remember the week right after he - " He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named " - was defeated. It was only me, Remus, and Marlana left here, and Marlana still a seventh-year student. Had to go through one hundred - no exaggeration - each day and offer support as well as reassurance that he was really gone. And that was just those sorts of letters, there was correspondence with foreign countries and Aurors and all sorts of things the Ministry shuffled off here. What a nightmare that was! I don't think I slept for a week."  
  
I cringed. Chelsea grinned. "So, in other words, you're rubbing it in to us young'uns that we got off easy."  
  
"Right," Mrs. Johansson teased back, "Brace up!"  
  
"What about when we _do_ have to face that, though?" I wondered to Harry.  
  
He shrugged and didn't reply. Of course, I realized later, I hadn't been entirely tactful, either…  
  
  
18 November  
  
  
Quidditch is actually a very nice relief from the constant grind of the CC. I watch practices more often now, even take my homework down there. It's annoying, of course, to watch Sara, but we've cooled down a bit as of late, and I must admit that once again the Gryffindor Chasers are playing like no one's business - they're working well together. Jason isn't spectacular, but just gets the job done in that quiet way… more soothing to watch than anything. Something is still calm and peaceful! Harry, as usual, is great. Just watching him fly takes my mind off a lot; it's so graceful, like he doesn't realize he's a billion feet off the ground and nearly about to fall, like it often looks from down here!  
  
Fred and George… well, they certainly don't look _graceful_… but they're a great laugh. I like to watch how they can communicate without words; they just sort of read each other's minds. Lee Jordan often goes down to practice commentating. Today he even said: "Say, Hermione, I'll be gone next year. Ever thought of being commentator?"  
  
I startled. "_Me?_"  
  
"You. You know, that person you seem to walk around as."  
  
"You're crazy!" I turned back to my Charms homework.  
  
"Come on, it's not as if Drothl monitors. Just Drothl, and if our luck holds, she'll be gone next year."  
  
"Just watch her be the one to stay."  
  
"That's not what I wanted to talk about, blast it. I want to know if you'll try out for commentator."  
  
"I'll think of it," I said, to get him to go.  
  
  
23 November  
  
  
Fred, George, and "David" have a lot of thinking to do. I'm watching them get chewed off right now. Oh, I hope it's not _all _that bad!  
  


**Will Gred and Forge be expelled? Will the next attack be on Carquel's stronghold? Will Hermione's self-esteem boost... and WILL she be commentator next year? What other problems will the CC encounter, and when will I just plain kill off Drothl? (No, I can't promise that, can I?) Will Ron and Hermione realize that they're in love? (I refuse to promise to marry them. I believe they will seriously date, but no promises on marriage. They could met lots of people.) Did you enjoy this chapter that was Under The Influence Of The Dust Man? Will I finally get the diary to catch up to our real time? (Dec. in Dec., etc? *grin*) Will I get more than four reviews? *wink* No offence to those who did! Any chance I might get a new reviewer by someone I could convince to get out of lurk mode? (HINT!!!) Oh, and read Voltora's "The Greatest Gift". It's finished and really good, as is Nomad's "Comspiracy of Silence" series, featuring Severus Snape's schoolyears. A little, oh, "original", but a VERY interesting read. Happy Holidays to everyone! DECK the halls with boughs of holly! And Austin says hello!**  
  
  
  



	12. The Society For Purity

**A/N:   
  
Sara: *brightly* Rheanna?  
  
Rheanna: Yeah, Sara?  
  
Sara: THANK YOU!!  
  
Rheanna: *blinks and wonders if she's being set up* Why?  
  
Sara: I'm officially not a Mary Sue anymore! I'm EVIL now, since you reposted chapter 10 so that in the dormitory scene it's more my fault than Hermione's! Yea! *skips around stupidly in joy* So when do I find my idenity?  
  
Rheanna: Not until spring, unless Isa begs hard enough.  
  
Sara: *runs off to find Isa and bribe her*  
  
Rheanna: Sorry, wanted to have fun winding her up. Anyhow, yes, I re-wrote that hated dormitory scene in Chapter 10: "A Witch's First Friday Night Fling". (I wanted to illustrate that Hermione wasn't the only one being unreasonable.)  
  
Hermione: *scowls* Thank you very much. Did you also mention in the story yet that another reason I feel threatened by Blustovadk is because her marks are rather good?   
  
Rheanna: I meant to. Forgot. 'Mione, you know you're just angry with me because I invented "Hermione-Torture" in this chapter.   
  
Hermione: Oh, no. Thank you very much indeed for making my life miserable. *stalks off moodily*  
  
Rheanna: *shakes head sadly* Sorry, had to do it...   
  
Remus: Rheanna, slight problem.  
  
Rheanna: Tell me about it. Oh, sorry. Go on.  
  
Remus: Sirius is getting very impatient while waiting for his big scenes. Can you please cut down on my usage so he can stop badgering me about that? Come on, I'm only even in one book.  
  
Rheanna: Rem, you make a comeback in Book Five. Ms. Rowling said so. Sorry. Furthermore, perhaps if Sirius will be more coopertive when I write of him, he'd get even more fics.  
  
Sirius: *crosses arms* One word: Serendipity.  
  
Rheanna: *sighs* Siri, you of all people should know that one burst of good behaviour will not last you your entire life. But I *do* thank you for your wonderful cooperation in that case. Sadly, not too many people seem to enjoy that fic.  
  
Sirius: *stalks off to start threatening readers*  
  
Harry: Hey, can you forget about me, too?  
  
Rheanna: *blinks* Harry, the series this is written off us is named after you.  
  
Harry: Yeah, but this fic is named after Hermione. Why am I suddenly such a great friend?  
  
Rheanna: 'Cause I'm such a bad author?  
  
Harry: No kidding. Four full reviews.  
  
Rheanna: *glowers* 'Cause you are a good friend?  
  
Harry: Listen, I'm with Remus on this one. Let me GO.  
  
Rheanna: But you're fun to write, when I'm not using your Point of View.  
  
Remus: *winces* I've heard those words before.  
  
Harry: Snape doesn't want attention, either, and he doesn't get any, but he's another of your favourite characters. Put him on the spot a little while. You mentioned him three times the whole fic, and I thought you liked him.  
  
Rheanna: True... he just doesn't fit in the plot yet.  
  
Ginny: *glances up from re-reading the story* Plot? What plot? I'm lost.  
  
Rheanna: There is one. I swear. It's just a bit too... thick.  
  
Remus: *murmurs* Precisely.  
  
Rheanna:*glares and mutters* Must be the darn lunar cycle affecting him...  
  
Katrina: I HEARD THAT!!  
  
Rheanna: *flinches* Must you always be so loud?  
  
Kat: Am I in this chapter? This fic?  
  
Rheanna: No and yes. Honestly, I liked you a lot better when you were alive. You weren't as... cheerful. I liked you dark, cynical, and bitter.  
  
Ginny: *stares* Her?  
  
Kat: *beams* Me. Know me? I'm Katrina Mead. I'm also dead.  
  
Ginny: *faintly* Oh. I see.   
  
Rheanna: Kat, go away. I have an annoucement to make.  
  
Kat: *brightly* Oh, that's nice. How rude. All right, see you later. I have to go scare Al.  
  
Rheanna: *stares after her sullen creation in slight amazement* Okay, the quick annoucement I wanted to make: The seventh year is not told by Ginny. It's by Neville. HOWEVER -- *ducks as objects, mostly very heavy, very squishy, or with silver content are thrown* -- wait! Ginny's telling her seventh year after the others leave, so you still get a Ginny Diary. I like her too much to get rid of her. Now, since this author's note is frankly ridiculous, onward with the chapter. By the way, it's the hardest chapter to write to date... not just because of what happens. I've had serious Writer's Block. My apologies.  
  
**

24 November  
  
Too bad. They're caught, and caught badly.  
  
It was very suddenly in the Great Hall when lunch had ended. Most of us were heading off to our next class or whatnot, and Drothl storms in, fuming.  
  
What a sight! Her hair was mucked in a think brown goop - I don't _want_ to know what it was - and her eyes were dazed and crossed because of a spell. (She still managed to see straight enough to walk, though, trust me.) Her robes were torn at the hems, all jagged, obviously the work of… well, she didn't trip down the stairs, trust me. Her shoulders had glittering white powder covering them, leaving a trail as she walked. Her shoes… I don't see how they managed to stay on her feet. They were scorched and looked like the pet dog at been at them… the sole of the right one flapped as she walked. The right sleeve of her robes had been one-fourth torn off.  
  
All right… I know Drothl isn't anyone's favorite person, and certainly not mine, and she probably had it coming to her… but, afterwards, I _did_ feel bad for her. I mean, how embarrassing to be so completely gone with rage and being in front of all your students - most of whom don't respect you anyway - in that state, because of a prank that went a little out of hand.  
  
But, truth be told, if she had been even a little rational about it, I would have had far more sympathy.  
  
In any case, she gave those of us who were still in the Hall quite a show. She storms straight up to the teachers' table.   
  
"Where's McGonagall?" she demanded in a hoarse, ragged voice on the edge of all self-control.  
  
Prof. Vector smiled, trying not to laugh, I think. "Minerva's getting ready for her next class. Christina, are you are right? What happened?"  
  
I don' think it helped Drothl's mood that those of us in the Hall started bursting into giggles at Prof. Vector's innocent tone.  
  
Drothl was apologetic with fury. "It… was… **_them_**!" she sputtered through clenched teeth.  
  
"Indeed," Snape nodded. " 'Them'… certainly narrows it down, Drothl. Any more specifics?"  
  
Now Drothl was shaking as well in anger. "Those blasted Weasley triplets!"  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, but then I saw comprehension draw on his face. The eyebrows went down, and he said nothing, although I swear there was amusement in his eyes. He watched Drothl almost casually.  
  
Vector was shaking her head kindly. "Triplets?"  
  
Drothl didn't even reply. I suppose she nodded and I couldn't tell, although thinking of her nodding when she was like this doesn't quite fit. In fact, I think Vector didn't wait for an answer. The Hall was dead quiet, listening to this.  
  
"If you're talking of the Weasleys, there are no triplets. They're twins."  
  
"Yes! Triplets!" Drothl contradicted.  
  
"It certainly seems so at times, doesn't it?" Vector continued conversationally. "No, they're twins, the little demons, and thank goodness, I doubt I could handle one more."  
  
Drothl, her limbs still every which way in anger, sort of froze in confusion.   
  
"Drothl may mean Lee Jordan or David Stebbins, of course," Snape spoke up in soft slyness.  
  
"David! Weasley! He's the worst of them _all_!"  
  
"Oh, he's a Weasley now, I suppose?" Vector concluded.   
  
Then it hit me - the twins' potion was still in effect. Every time she heard the word "twins", she heard "triplets". Going through the conversation through Drothl's point of view is too much!  
  
"I want all three of them expelled. Now." Drothl spoke slowly and deliberately.  
  
"I've been trying," Snape murmured dryly.  
  
I had to grip Ginny's shoulder to keep from laughing, and she was gripping Ron, whose head was against the table to muffle his howls of laughter. Harry's glasses were off, and he didn't even dare make eye contact with me. I think he was near crying. Ginny was shaking wildly.  
  
"I'll talk with the twins," Vector nodded absently. (I'm _sure_ she will…)  
  
"Especially David," Drothl snapped. "He's the worst of them!"   
  
"David Stebbins? He's been with me. I've been tutoring him on Summoning Charms," Flitwick spoke up.  
  
"David Weasley!"  
  
Then I spotted Fred and George in a corner. Fred was just about crying. George was grinning somewhat, but he also looked _worried_… about being caught? George Weasley? Nah.  
  
"There is no David Weasley," Vector informed her, almost concernedly.  
  
Drothl blinked, looking completely lost.  
  
"I believe she is under the influence of a Disguised Speech Mixture," Snape said finally. "She doesn't understand what you say."  
  
"Have you an antidote?" Vector asked, a little worriedly. I nearly laughed out loud, remembering how they used to go after each other verbally, and now they were just about… working together. United in their dislike of Drothl.  
  
Snape fetched it quickly while Vector tried to calm Drothl down… unsuccessfully. Just as I was about to leave for Ancient Runes, he returned and told Drothl to drink it. Drothl looked at him suspiciously, but I suppose fear of Snape was more than skeptically on what on earth he would be giving her a potion for.   
  
"Okay, now," said Vector brightly after a few minutes. "Christina, the twins have been fooling you. The Weasley _twins_, Fred and George. David Weasley does not exist. The students have been using Polyjuice Potion all year to trick you." She bit her lip a moment while her eyes sparkled before continuing: "But thi - "  
  
Drothl went ballistic when this sunk in. You could see her suddenly understand this, the shock in her bright grey eyes, and then the unmistakable rage. She whipped around and yelled at Fred and George like they never have been - in front of me, anyway. She ranted for five full moments (class seemed to be forgotten) until her voice gave out. Then some of the other teachers had to restrain her from cursing them. Where's Dumbledore when you need him?  
  
I didn't get much out of Ancient Runes. Everyone, including Selby, wanted to know what had happened from those of us who had been in the Hall.  
  
I haven't heard their punishment yet. It's only morning, and I haven't seen them since yesterday.  
  
But the sight of an uncontrollable Drothl in that mess was wonderful!  
  
  
25 November  
  
Fred and George aren't expelled or even suspended. They had "a talk" with Dumbledore and had to apologize to Drothl (very sincerely I'm sure), as well as clean up the mess in the Defence room. It still smells funny. They're mum when asked about what happened in there. They just grin knowingly and say her office looks even worse. However, Snape and Madam Hooch have decreed that they're not allowed to attend Quidditch practice for a week.  
  
"Who's Snape to be able to be allowed to do that?" Ron demanded angrily.  
  
"He helps with the Quidditch program."  
  
"Like referring?" Harry asked wryly.  
  
"Like commentating," Lisa said from behind me.  
  
"He did?" I asked in shock. I couldn't_ imagine_ Snape commentating.  
  
"Year after my parents left. Figured if he couldn't make the team he might as well commentate."  
  
I shook my head in amazement. Would wonders never cease? But now that I don't have to worry about the twins… no longer triplets… I need to find my Potions book. I can't imagine where it went. I bet it's Ron, the annoyance.  
  
  
27 November  
  
Ron swears he doesn't have it. I wish that Snape believed as much. He gave me a horrible lecture on it today in class. I kept quiet and thought it best to let him through it. If it makes him feel better, then let him.   
  
Bur dear Ron just couldn't let it go, could he? Out of the corner of my eye I saw him and Sara frown. Ron was about to speak outright when Sara tugged his sleeve and mouthed something I couldn't read without blatantly turning my head.   
  
"Professor Snape?" Sara suddenly called innocently.  
  
Snape rounded on her. "Your arm, Miss Blustovadk."  
  
"I raised it. You were too busy lecturing Hermione, sir. And no, I didn't mean to rhyme that. Anyway, I had a question. It's rather important."  
  
Snape fixed a cold eye on her.  
  
"Do widow spiders shoot venom?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Okay. Thank you, sir. You can continue telling off Hermione now if you really want to."  
  
Everyone in the Gryffindor half of the classroom muffled a guffaw. Snape was distinctly ruffled. He turned to me, all rage broken, and just told me sneeringly that I had lost Gryffindor twenty-five points and that I would serve detention every night until I had found -  
  
"Professor Snape!" It was Morag McDougall. "Professor! If they really do shoot venom, you better watch it!"  
  
Two spiders, edged with orange that stood out vividly on Snape's dark greasy hair, were wandering on his head. It took a moment of confusion for the Slytherins to get across to him that they were there. By the time Snape picked them off he was hotly embarrassed. Then Ron and Sara exchanged another glance. Sara put her head down to stem her laughter, and Ron raised his hand.  
  
"Weasley!"  
  
"Sir, if Hermione is in detention every night, when does she have time to find her book?"  
  
Gryffindor lost a lot of points by the time class ended. Ron and Blustovadk were totally unrepentant. I asked Ron in astonishment if he had really put those spiders on Snape's head.  
  
"Ron! I thought you were terrified of them!!"  
  
He grinned. "Who ever said I touched those spiders?"  
  
"Ron! I - can't - what!?"  
  
His grinned widened and he looked sheepish. "Sara had shooters. I didn't have to touch one, just shoot it. And some things are for a good cause. I didn't like Snape yelling at you."  
  
I shook my head in amazement, refraining from giving him a hug and yelling my head off at him.  
  
29 November  
  
I found my Potions book. I - I can't believe it. I don't understand why I never saw this coming. But it did. It was returned to my bag today; I found it after Arthimancy. There was a note in it; I'm using a Copying Charm -  
  
_Mudblood -  
  
Our star model student searching for her Potions book. How sad. Not so perfect anymore, are you? Time the pride of a Mudblood was taken down a bit; you hold your head far too high for a Mudblood.  
  
We surely hope losing your schoolbooks isn't a regular occurrence. Your darling friends - or are they? - can only pull for you so long. We'd hate to see you fall from the top of your classes when it's not on your own terms. If you took our advice, you'd leave Hogwarts now. Sort of like how the werewolf saved any last shred of false pride by resigning before anyone got the proper chance to tell it to leave. Trust us. Mudblood McGinnis followed this advice, left, and borrowed some time. Mudblood Orr was a fool, didn't, and died before the end of her sixth year.   
  
Purely coincidental? We think not. And those that murdered Orr told us how to dispose of you as well. We have… sources, you see. We can make your life miserable before we send you off or kill you, as well. Think about it. And while we know the white blazing glory Gryffindors like yourself have a habit of being stubborn to the point of death, we always had to admit you were far more than the average Gryffindor. Besides, you wouldn't want to see Potter or any of the Weasleys in danger, would you? Especially Ronald and Virginia? Think carefully as usual and we know you'll make the right choice. Leave quickly, Mudblood, and enjoy your holidays. May well be your last.  
  
-The Society for Purity   
_  
How dare they. Are they really that stupid? They don't think I could take this to Albus Dumbledore himself right at this moment? Because that's what I'm doing right now. Harry told me the entrance and that the password was always some sort of magical sweet.  
  
  
31 November  
  
I'm still very wary, however, and look both ways constantly. As if I needed another distraction with the O.W.L.s coming up! I'm getting _so_ nervous and have increased my study schedule. What if I _didn't_ pass them? I mean, I should, I know… but what if I got so nervous I forgot everything? What if I'm studying all the wrong things? What if - oh my goodness, what if those people who threatened me fix the examination so I fail? _Why_ was I worried about Flings and such when I should be worried about _this_? Forget dead, what if Malfoy beats me? He makes me furious; I just _know_ he sent that horrid note and that he has ways of making it happen.  
  
And then there's Sara Blustovadk. Ever since she threw that Firecracker and we had our little fight, she's been extra dedicated to her studies. I know it's just to make me angry, since she knows how much pride I put into them. She was near as good as me in some subjects, like Charms and Arthimancy, to begin with, but now she's been catching up to me in Charms like I had feared she would do at the beginning of the year. I've got to work harder on that. I'm very proud of my Charms abilities. Luckily I'm way ahead of her in Potions.   
  
Ron started writing all over Harry's_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ today. Sigh. Last month he was scribbling all over his (Ron's, not Harry's)_ Intermediate Transfiguration_, inserting little comments everywhere. He tried to write in his _History of Magic_ around then too but fell asleep in class.   
  
  
  
1 December  
  
Today my schoolbag was slashed - not by accident, this was obviously the work of a knife. It happened during Care of Magical Creatures, too. I should have been more observant - obviously the Slytherins are behind all this.   
  
_Mudblood -   
  
We advice packing what's left of your possessions a bit quicker and leaving. Don't think we're not serious. We're trying very hard to do this nicely. Good day to you.  
  
- The Society for Purity_  
  
Now I'm getting worried. Perhaps they _are_ serious. You-Know-Who is risen, after all, and more and more people are seeing the light. Of course the Slytherins would be the first to know, as well as this "Society for Purity". I _am _taking this to Dumbledore.   
  
1 December, later  
  
I'm so confused. What do I do now? It doesn't work; I lose every way.  
  
I was heading to Dumbledore's office when Snape appeared, almost like he was expecting me and knew exactly where I was doing, and had been able to guess where I was going. Just stepping out of the shadows. It fits, so… Snape - "stepping out of the shadows".  
  
"Miss Granger?" he said in an even tone that was so different from the tone he used in Potions that I had to work to keep a neutral expression. No, don't get me wrong. It was far from kind. It just wasn't sinister, which was something. "You're wandering around rather late."  
  
"It's not curfew, sir," I replied.  
  
"I never said it was," he said dryly. "Did you find your Potions book?"  
  
I had a funny feeling he knew that answer. "Yes." And I couldn't help but add: "After detention."  
  
Snape gazed at me levelly, eyes shrewd. "May I make a few assumptions?" (He didn't let me reply.) "First off, I need to have a talk with you in my office."  
  
I could practically hear Ron in the background yelling: "NO!! HERMIONE!! _YOU WON'T GET OUT ALIVE!!_ **AGH!!**" And then, of course, followed by a loud crack of lightening.  
  
I followed him anyway.   
  
(As a side note, his office is worse than the storerooms. Ron was right.)  
  
"Sit down."  
  
Snape is about the only teacher in the world who tells me to do something and makes me want to do the opposite. Oh, I know, I've said that a zillion times ever since the first year. But when he tells you to do something, your first instinct is to do something totally different: "Sit down" - jump up and run back up to the safety of the Great Hall.  
  
"Where did you find it?"  
  
"My schoolbag."  
  
"I'm assuming it wasn't there the past few days."  
  
"No." I felt like I was under interrogation for… for… trial, I suppose. I'm sure Ron could think up some really good word illustration.  
  
"Fine."  
  
_You believe me?_ I wondered skeptically.  
  
"Now. May I now take my wild guess?" Again, I didn't get any time to answer. "Any chance there was a note in there? From the 'Society for Purity'?"  
  
I didn't meet his eye and I didn't answer.  
  
"Miss Granger, please just answer the question. It's your favourite thing to do."  
  
_Ten points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all… I see no difference… I don't recall asking you to show off, Miss Granger… Fascinating though your social life most undoubtedly is… not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear… so you can concentrate on your potions rather than your tangled love lives…  
_  
"Yes. Sir."   
  
"Thank you. I don't think that was exceedingly difficult. And so you were taking this note to the Headmaster because they threatened your life and your attendance at Hogwarts."  
  
I glanced up sharply; not being able to help but think it was because he probably wrote those same notes as a student. And who knows if Ron isn't right? No… no… I trust Dumbledore. It's just hard to trust Snape. "Yes."  
  
"Planning to leave?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
Snape considered matters for a second. I swear I saw him mouth: "Typical Gryffindor." "What do you suppose Dumbledore would do about this?"  
  
I startled slightly. I mean, this was… Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore always had an answer; he could always find a way to solve a problem. But I couldn't quite say that. It sounded quite assumptous.   
  
"I suppose you expected him to find they who wrote this through some impossible means and have them expelled? To suddenly produce a way to make sure you're protected and will suffer no discomfort during this ordeal? To take time out from the war, saving lives, to work out your problems?"  
  
I cringed. I felt incredibly ashamed of myself.  
  
Then I realized this was my_ life_ in the balance! "I was most worried about the threat to my life, sir."  
  
Suddenly, I found myself back in a corridor right near Gryffindor Tower. Everything was rather fuzzy for a moment, and I felt something around my neck.   
  
It was a gold chain with an emerald sphere on it. I remembered suddenly that a sphere is the magical Shape for repelling and safety. I examined it cluelessly and heard a cackle in my pocket.   
  
The cackle was a piece of parchment.  
  
_H.G. -  
  
Some advice from keeping out of the way of the Society of Purity. For one, there's no way we can enter the Gryffindor Tower. We cannot attack you in class or in the Great Hall, and not in crowded corridors. Pay strict attention to curfew and don't go off alone. Make sure you have lots of people about. Wear an emerald sphere. There's still a slight chance that all the protections placed upon you might be broken through. Are you willing to risk that?_  
  
Slowly, I pieced it together. That note, chain, and charm were from Snape. Snape couldn't outright help me, but he could secretly. He had given these to me in his office and walked me back to the corridor I was then in before placing a Memory Charm on me. I shook my head and realized I was exhausted and decided to go to bed.  
  
But I couldn't sleep. This isn't good, not at all. Snape obviously thinks this is serious and he should know. I don't quite mind as much putting my life in danger, although I hate to think of how Mum and Dad would react if anything happened to me - look at what Dad lost at the hands of the Dark Side already. But putting Ron and Harry and Ginny in that peril! I can't do that. Oh, dear. What can I do now?   
  
2 December  
  
Well, I decided. I'm not going to put my friends in danger. I hate doing it, very, very much, but today I started separating from them. I also decided I can't tell them about the Society for Purity for several reasons. Firstly, Ron would lose his temper and hex all of Slytherin House. (I can just hear him shouting: "I'll kill all of 'em until I get the right one!") Two, if they know, they might let it slip as to what Snape did. Thirdly, it's for their protection as well. They'd try to talk me out of distancing myself from them. (I can just hear the cries of: "They're just idiots trying to scare you! They can't hurt you _or_ us!" Oh, I hate being the practical one sometimes.)   
  
Today I didn't walk to the Great Hall with them. When I got there, the only empty seat was near them… I was oddly grateful. I dread trying to explain to them why I'm suddenly so reticent. I don't _want_ to show them the notes. It's all very stupid on this Society for Purity's part, of course… but they make me feel _dirty_. I just feel humiliated to have even got one of those notes in the first place. So… I didn't talk to them much and buried myself in_ The Myths and Rumours Surrounding Q. Carquel_. And while it was very interesting, I didn't enjoy it much.   
  
During classes I acted very, very intense on my work, which didn't seem to strike anyone as odd. I didn't whisper and didn't tell them not to. Ron muttered that I was probably on O.W.L. mode - and if that's what they want to believe for now, that's fine by me.   
  
4 December  
  
Ron and Harry have definitely noticed that I've been avoiding them whenever possible. Ron kept badgering me for a long while but then I heard Harry whisper to him that I was either studying or wanted to be left alone.  
  
"If she doesn't come around soon, we'll find out what's wrong."  
  
Sometimes it's very useful to have one friend who's half-sensitive.   
  
Ginny hasn't left me yet, though. She keeps after me and keeps after me, no matter how many times I say: "Oh, Ginny, I'm really busy right now. Can I have some time to myself?" She'll leave me alone for a while and then comes on back. In fact, it's getting irritating. But now she's realized something's wrong and is trying to find out what it is so she can help.   
  
I'm touched by her concern, I truthfully am, but I know I can't tell her. What if she was caught by either Death Eaters or the Society for Purity and revealed that Snape actually helped me? That means death for him. And if she knows, she's bound to let the fact that I'm being… er, I don't want to use the word… threatened slip somehow or another. Even if I say: "Say, Gin, I'm really not upset with you at all, it's just that you're in danger if you're my friend so I've to pretend you're _not_…" Well, sure, we can pretend to have a row, but sooner or later she'll say: "Oh, Hermione's not angry with me, it's just - oh, never mind."  
  
So if this keeps up, I'm going to have to pretend to fight with her. The thought makes me cringe - Ginny is my one close female friend and we've never had a real argument before. But when I think of Ginny dead… well, it's worth it.  
  
I just foresee writing a lot in my diary to pass the time.  
  
  
5 December  
  
Well, if anything, I'm getting a lot of writing done by hiding in the Owlery. (The library, I've discovered, it too obvious.) I've finished three-fourths of_ Fiddle Girl_ and am looking around for an idea for a new story. Problem is, I can't find it. I get most of my ideas from Ron and Ginny and Harry, actually… no, that sounds like self-pity. Hermione, get a grip on yourself. But I've also been studying like mad, but I've studied most of this since the summer before last. I've also written another letter to Viktor… what's it say? I haven't the faintest clue. Alyn hasn't written. I could use a dose of humour right now. I've wished I could visit Hagrid, but come to think of it, that puts _him _in trouble as well. He probably has enough of it. I wonder what he's been doing for Dumbledore.  
  
No attacks lately. That also means less time with the CC, which would have been helpful last month, but this month I _need _something to do. The Quidditch team is training, even with a recent light snowfall. I wonder if they would have practice in the middle of a tornado. Not that I think Hogwarts gets too many of those.   
  
I've been keeping a close watch on the other Muggle-borns around here, and you know what? All of them are looking nervous as well. A little edgy, a little off, a little distant. I'll bet anything they're all getting these threats, too. It's awful to think of... a whole group of us all under this... this... tension. It's terrible! There's got to be something to do about that... other than what Snape is doing. For, I notcied that Justin Finch-Fletchey is wearing a gold chain too, and I'll wager that it has an emerald sphere on it.  
  
9 December  
  
I got another note today:  
  
_Mudblood -   
  
Sure are taking your time, aren't you? We're getting rather impatient over here. Your friends had better watch their backs.   
  
- Society for Purity_  
  
Well, that's it. I've got to have this fight with Ginny, and soon. I don't know what I could upset about; I can't imagine what would make a good show. I wish I could tell her off in front of the common room because, say, she kept pestering me to get Harry to ask her out… but that's just_ cruel_ to Ginny. No way am I yelling at her for the opposite… not talking to Ron about me. Everyone says we are an adorable couple, but we are _not_. Furthermore, I need something that Ginny can't see is false. I want her to think I'm angry with her, not brushing her off. Hmm. I bet I could do it for schoolwork, but if it's in the common room, that won't reach the ears of the Slytherins… I need something worthy of gossip. Like… like… just for tagging along? No…   
  
**A little short. My apologies, again, but this was a good cliffhanger. (EVIL!!) So what sort of excuse is Hermione going to use? How long will the attack of the Society for Purity go on? Will I finally make it more than halfway through this story? (Christmas.) And... did anyone notice a bit of H/R in here? *wicked cackle* I think Ron dealing with a spider for Hermione's sakes sure is! **  
  
  
  



	13. Hermione's Christmastide

A/N: *gets down on knees* I'm terribly sorry for taking so long!... but if you want a characterization on Dill Harris of *To Kill A Mockingbird*, I'll send you the file. :-)  
  
Okay, sorry for the joke -- but I'm trying to keep my fanfiction a secret from my mom, who would conclude I'm utterly crazy, never let me on fanfiction.net, and wouldn't even let me use the computer for my *original* stuff... so bear with me here. :-)  
  
This chapter was so long I had to use the document file, so I apologize for how stupid it looks. I hate this format.  
  
Thanks again to all my reviewers: Julia, Le Chat Qi Garde La Lune (I've got to use that, as the second piece of French I know, in this fic...), Lavender Ice (who has reviewed EVERY ONE of my fics, thanks, LI!), Lily Evans, and Sorensen.  
  
To answer a few quick questions: Lily: Of course Hermione can't; but she's six. Let her believe she can get away with it for awhile. :-)  
  
Sorensen: Ron... hmm... uh... er... *glances around helplessly* I'm working on a Percy fic, one very long chapter, is that good enough? *hopefully*  
  
DJ: *note -- not on ff.n* Well, Hermione's Hermione. With Sirius and Harry both referring to Remus as "Remus", she probably thinks of him as that, but Hermione Granger, calling a teacher (even a former one) but his first name without explicit permission (and maybe not even then?) Never.  
  
Isa: Wanna count how many times the CC is mentioned? Heh heh...  
  
Sara has gotten on to my account. I think she sent y'all an email... Hermione is working as my secratary. These characters are nice! With that, something I've been warned by DJ I've forgotten... Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic. I even disclaim the plot and original characters. Without J. K. Rowling, I wouldn't have created them. (Hopefully she wouldn't be horrified by them...) I assure all that I make no money off of this. In fact, I lose money, because I use a lot of Advil...  
  
Note: Can anyone explain the pence system to me? I want my fics to be accurate, but that still confuses me a bit...  
  
As always, I thank you wholeheartedly... and apologize in advance for the cliffhanger, and the wait.  
  
Lastly, I want to do a fic called "Receiving the Hogwarts Owl", in which each chapter will recount the event of certain characters finding out they were accepted to HSoWaW. (Although I am forcing myself to post nothing until I finish Serendipity.) For those of your interested, you get to decide -- which character do you want to see first? The only one I will not do is James Potter. I have a full series on him, and not saying the event of his owl will give me a real incentive to get to work! So who do you want to see in the moment? Any canon characters, and of my original characters (*sighs*... yes, Isa, that includes Sara, it won't be given away if I do), and *if* you get me permission from the author, anyone else's OCs. If interested, tell me who you want to see in a review! (If you somehow *forget* to review... *glares around* ... Oh, well, email me!) In case of ties, I'll pick the person I like best.  
  
That is, the charcter that'll be easiet to do, not the reviewer I like best. That's favourism. *grin*  
  
Enough blabbing, on with *this* chapter!  
  
10 December  
  
I feel terrible. Doing the right thing can really make you feel lousy. It can really make the person you're trying to help feel lousy, too – or humiliated is more like it.  
  
Well, I couldn't very well do it in the Great Hall, even though then the Slytherins would be sure to hear. So I needed something that word of mouth would carry. What's the one way I get my name in gossip circles lately?  
  
Viktor, of course.  
  
So… last evening I planned it out carefully and waited for Ginny to come in. Hoping to spare her, I bent over my books and faked a look of panicked, frantic studying.  
  
Ginny ignored it, coming over to me with her own History of Magic work. "Hi, Hermione."  
  
I glanced up. "Oh! Hi, Ginny." I bent down again, silently praying. *Gin, just get out of here! Please!*  
  
Ginny didn't hear my thoughts and plopped down. "Still on homework, I see?"  
  
I took a deep breath and then forced an exasperated sigh. "Yeah," I said, sounding snappish, raising my voice slightly.  
  
Ginny glanced at me in surprise, looking a little hurt. I felt pinpricks of guilt already. "Oh." I wished she would say, "Okay, I'll leave you alone then." Instead, she said: "I'll just keep quiet while we work," with one of her hesitant but friendly smiles.  
  
It was the thought of no one – not me, not the Weasleys – ever seeing that bright smile again that kept me going through my act. "Oh, sure you will," I said acidly.  
  
Ginny looked even more startled. "Er – Hermione?"  
  
"What is it, Ginny? See? You're doing it already!"  
  
"W-What?"  
  
She sounded like she had three years ago, as a nervous first-year. Her voice was now uncertain.  
  
"Just go away…" I tried to add: "You brat", but I couldn't quite manage it. "You've made enough trouble for me already."  
  
As I said, I was speaking loudly, and the common room grew quieter as some people turned to look.  
  
I'm not sure if it's good or bad that Ginny's Weasley temper kicked in. "Just what did I do?" she demanded coolly, putting a hand on her hip as she stood.  
  
"Go ask *Viktor*," I snapped. "Not that he'll talk to you."  
  
"H-Hermione?"  
  
At the sound of "Viktor" and me looking so upset, the whole common room silenced. Several glances were exchanged, several eyebrows were raised, several knowing smiles showed, and several soft calls of: "Ooooh" sounded the room. (The twins and Lee, I'm sure.)  
  
Ginny found her anger far enough to ask sharply, after the hesitant calling of my name, as if asking where I had gone and who was acting me out in my absence, "Just what about Viktor?"  
  
I feigned being on the edge of tears. Just what I always wanted – crying in front of Gryffindor over a boy. "V-Viktor s-said that he c-c- couldn't date m-me any l-longer because he c-couldn't be w-with a g-girl who always had a little bratty t-tagalong in ratty robes h-hanging around!"  
  
The silence deepened as this sunk in. Ginny's face began to turn as red as her hair. My own shame was causing me to heat in the cheeks as well, but if they were colouring, I think it was mistaken for anger or being upset.  
  
I didn't think Ginny could find her voice for a moment. I illustrated the scene by glaring at her. Ginny looked shocked and simply unable to understand. Then – why does she have to be so sweet? – she said softly: "Oh my goodness, Hermione, I'm sorry."  
  
Why couldn't she have been *nasty* about it quicker? It would have made my job a lot easier. Since she didn't, I provoked her once more: "You had better be! I k-kept hinting at y-you last y-year to stop tagging along, but n-nothing gets through you're t-thick skull, d-does it?" I had done nothing of the sort, of course.  
  
Ginny reddened again, partly from embarrassment – some snickers rounded the room – but mostly from anger. "Well!" she burst out loudly. "Why, I'm so sorry, *Miss* Perfect Bighead! Excuse *me* for trying to be a good friend as well! I've had *enough* of you. I'll just leave you alone, Professor Granger, you must have a ton of weeping of the soul to do in your *diary* after all that *homework* gets done!"  
  
Despite the fact that she had revealed my diary to one and all, I felt I deserved it and couldn't pretend to fume or glare at her. There were now a lot of snickers from the room, in favour of Ginny.  
  
She turned on her heel dramatically and started for the girls' dormitories, suddenly facing me again in the doorway as everyone was beginning to buzz about the row. "Hermy-own Krum didn't sound too good to my ears to begin with!" she added in a scathing shout.  
  
She disappeared, and just as I had hoped (hoped, but hadn't looked forward to, mind you), the second she left the room began to fill with talk over the scene. Several people glanced at me pityingly, but most were as disgusted with me as I was with myself, many admiring Ginny's spunk loudly enough for me to hear.  
  
"Good thing the twins' sister told her off. Always though Hermione Granger was too proud of her wonderful marks and dating Krum for her own good…"  
  
"That was some telling off! I've been wanting to tell Hermione all that for ages…"  
  
"Did Krum really dump her? Because of *Ginny* Weasley?…"  
  
"I know." This girl giggled. "Thought it would be Ron, if anybody!"  
  
"Didn't know little Ginny Weasley had that in her, y'know?"  
  
"… Hermione Granger's just angry she wasn't made prefect, you know…"  
  
"Someone give the Weasley girl a medal… that was great…"  
  
I bent my head over my Ancient Runes as far as I could crane it. My face was burning and I felt close to tears.  
  
"*Ahem*," a throat cleared from above me. Ron.  
  
I glanced up. "What is it?"  
  
"What the bloody *hell* did you do that to my *sister* for, you git!"  
  
I had a feeling that "trying to save her life" wasn't going to work right now.  
  
"If you're going to yell at me, that's one thing!" Ron continued furiously. "You lay *off* Ginny, that's *my* sister, and no way are you *ever* going to humiliate her in front of Gryffindor in front of *me*, you –"  
  
"Watch your mouth!" I replied out of habit.  
  
Ron stared at me, too rage-filled (and shocked) to say anything.  
  
"Well, Weasley," I said coldly, scooping up my books and standing, "*I* never noticed before now that you were so fond of her. *I* recall hearing 'Go away, Ginny' and 'Ginny, stop bothering me'. Interesting that you're taking such an interest in her now, isn't it?"  
  
Ron gaped and found his voice. "This is a lot different! Ginny's my sister and you can't tell her off like that!"  
  
"I just did." I tried to sidestep him. He stepped on my foot. I muffled a small cry of pain and he glared at me.  
  
"Funny," he said in a low voice, "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know."  
  
"Well, your eyesight concerning me has always been a little off," I replied viciously. "Took you a while to realize I was a person… a little more to realize my brain could be put to uses… a few years to see I could take care of myself… even longer to see I was a girl… a little slow on the uptake, aren't you?"  
  
He glowered.  
  
"Listen, don't growl at me like a brokenhearted puppy," I said coolly. "If you want to ask me out, just do it and don't snap at me because you can't work up the courage!"  
  
I said this a bit loudly as well, and again a good deal of Gryffindor turned to us, looking frankly amazed.  
  
"G'night, Weasley."  
  
I can't believe that. Ron and Ginny looked so hurt… "I don't see the Hermione Granger I know." Well, I'm not too sure where she is either.  
  
12 December  
  
My roommates are out on a mission to kill me. Well, I know at least two of them don't intend to – that is, Parvati and Lavender.  
  
"Oh, 'Mione," they half-croon. *Mione*? Since when have I been *Mione*?! "Did Viktor Krum really break up with you? That's *awful*…" But I can deal with that. It's when they start putting down Ginny that I get angry! How Ginny was* always* a little bratty baby tagalong, and how they told me *long* ago to tell her to "buzz off"… sometimes I forget tat I'm supposed to be angry with her and almost start defending her before I remember. It's hard to keep my mouth shut.  
  
Not that Ginny gets no defence. For one, a good portion of the school is applauding her – and glowering and spilling inkstands on purpose in regard to me. As for Parvati and Lavender – well, I suppose Sara Blustovadk isn't completely useless.  
  
"Ginny is *not* a twerp!" she interjected hotly while hearing Parvati and Lavender go on. Which would have been very fine if she had kept it at that. But *no* – she continued: "*I* think" – who asked her? – "that Hermione owes Ginny a real apology. That was mean, Ginny's one of the best friends she could ever have and she tells her off because of what a *boy*, the great wonderful *Viktor*, says." Her grey-blue eyes flashed indignity and she stormed off.  
  
While I could have killed her on the spot, at least it caused them to lay off Ginny. "What's with Sara, she's usually so nice…" Lavender said, but she kept quiet after that.  
  
Harry is also furious with me. He's given me the cold shoulder all day and glared at me all during Herbology. Ron isn't half so subtle and talks none too discreetly about me – in my hearing. And it hurts, very badly… even though that's what I've been trying to make them do in the first place.  
  
The one comfort, however, is that like I planned this is all over school and that Ron and Harry are very obvious about this. Ginny – and the other two – are safe from the Society for Purity.  
  
13 December  
  
Did I mention the teachers are none too thrilled with me as well? (How goes gossip get this far, anyway? Is it those annoying portraits, or…?) Prof. McGonagall kept glancing at me yesterday like I had two heads. Very comforting. The work has been stepping down a little as well… everyone is ready for the holiday, I suppose. I've already signed up to go home. Ron and Harry and Ginny glared at me like poison, but I already vowed earlier to finally spend a Christmas at home! Of course, I can't tell them that… outside of Gryffindor, the Society might see. Inside the Tower, everyone is breathing down our necks watching. It will be such a relief to go home… I absolutely cannot wait another day. Well, I suppose I will, but I won't be happy about it. I want to get away from the feeling of paranoia of watching for someone with a knife, and away from the constant mutterings at me in the corridors, and the hissing in the Tower, and Ginny, who is walking around like a hurt little puppy. I just hope that Mum and Dad don't realize something's wrong. Parents are funny like that – have a habit of butting into your private life all the time.  
  
14 December  
  
Am I ever in trouble now. This clipping is from the *Witch Weekly* –  
  
Bulgarian Star Seeker Single Again  
  
Vrasta Vultures phenomenal young Seeker Viktor Krum has disappointed long-time fans by dating a young (quite young) British Hogwarts Gryffindor fifth-year, Hermione Granger, who is reportedly incredibly intelligent to make up for lack of looks.  
  
Female fans will be heartened to know, however, that the infamous "Vicky" has recently cut ties with Miss Granger and is very single.  
  
"Awesome," was the way one copper-haired, high-cheekboned witch phrased it. "Whenever I see Vicky Krum I just want to give him a big hug, a nice hot stew, and figure out how to make him smile."  
  
Oh my goodness, I am in for it now. Why didn't I think of that? I had forgotten that Viktor was the Viktor Krum. He was just… Viktor. But I can't really dump him without being in the tabloid for star-struck witches; I had forgotten.  
  
What if Viktor reads this?  
  
Oh, forget that –  
  
What about* when* Viktor reads this?  
  
I will have a lot of explaining to do. I've already thought… just deny it, and say it wasn't me who said that… but, well… not even the fact that everyone in Gryffindor can confirm it… it's just that it would be lying. I can't lie to Viktor; I respect him a lot – respect him. And, well, perhaps Mum was right. It's sort of nice to not feel as if I'm completely committed to one person. It's a nice feeling of freedom to know that I can accept a date from Bobby Renshaw without quickly reminding him that I'm "going steady". Not that any boy around here is asking me out for a while, unless they're, say, Slytherin – oh, spare me – but it's just nice to know that if someone, like A/N: "Ron" was scribbled out Jerome is going to look at me admiringly, that I can give him a teasing grin. Goodness knows I don't want to be like some girls who are terrible flirts – but restraining myself because I'm "with" someone in Bulgaria…  
  
Of course, I'm talking prematurely. Who knows? This might even escape Viktor's ears. But to tell the truth, last week I had to hunt up a picture of him to remember what shape his eyes were.  
  
15 December  
  
Hogsmeade isn't half as fun with no one to share it with. In fact, it's not much fun at all. I wouldn't even have gone if I hadn't needed to get Mum and Dad and the darling… sort of… cousins something for Christmas. I don't think getting Ron and Ginny and Harry and Neville and Parvati and Lavender anything will support my "bad-girl-standing-alone" act.  
  
But I knew exactly what to get for Mum and headed straight for Gladrags Wizardwear. I got a magically enchanted shawl that's always warm but looks completely Muggle. It's a deep red with darker red paid and gold and navy fringe, very soft and comfortable. I considered getting one for myself, even, but it was a little pricey for two. Not having any ideas for Andrew and Lissie, I wandered off the main road to the residential areas of the village. I had read about a playground in Hogsmeade. (Fancy! A real wizarding playground! Another "first"!)  
  
Although, magic children really aren't that different than Muggle. Except that their toys are a bit more, well, frankly, dangerous. I seriously wanted to get Andrew one of those jump ropes that kept skipping by themselves as the children jumped, speeding up and slowing down abruptly. I wouldn't have minded seeing Andrew smacked on the head. Okay, that was mean. But, well, let's face it, he more than deserves it. In the end, watching them got boring, and cold, and I decided to buy them (regular) jump ropes when I got home and could visit Markie's. I miss Markie; it'll be nice to see him. And really, watching kids jump rope isn't all that entertaining.  
  
I kept walking and started working out ideas for *Fiddle Girl*. That thing's got to end sooner or later. I'm thinking that perhaps I'm going the wrong way with Gareth showing her the way back to Uncle Hennery. Perhaps that should be Nan. There's some sort of poetic justice in that. But there has to be a sort of resolution with Jinni and Gareth, there just has to be.  
  
There are some very nice back and side streets in Hogsmeade. All these neat little cottage in wavy little rows, looking a bit untidier and more natural than Muggle homes. But while I was trying to enjoy it, I noticed something. At one bend I had passed a boy several years older than me was waiting with an Appleby Arrows pennant on. Many Appleby Arrows pennants. I mean, a bunch of pennants. But he also had a threatening half- scowl, and I grew nervous. I stiffened as I walked by, not meeting his eye. As I rounded the bend, I saw his make a hand motion in the direction behind me.  
  
I grew worried. What if he was signaling someone? My fears were confirmed at another corner, where another boy, just slightly smaller (still so much older he could beat me to a pulp) bearing the same amount of Appleby Arrow propaganda. I walked past, eyes averted, trying to walk confidently while I grew more nervous. He had a wand in his pocket.  
  
I rounded that bend when through the chain wire fence I saw none other than Sara Blustovadk walk from a different direction that I had to the corner and realized she had eyed up the whole situation. She stopped by the boy and grinned dazzlingly.  
  
"Hello," I heard her say, "Sara Blustovadk, adamant hater of the Wilbourne Wasps. Nice pennants you got there; get them at a game?"  
  
I kept walking, not knowing whether to be relived or not. She had saved me from whatever the Arrows fans were plotting, but then – *I was in debt to Sara Blustovadk*.  
  
No, I wasn't, I reasoned, I hadn't asked for it. Well, perhaps I owed her a thanks, but little more, and I did so when I reached Hogsmeade's main road. I waited for a few minutes and she arrived, not looking too thrilled or angry or sad. Just thoughtful. I tried to look like I hadn't been waiting.  
  
"Sara," I said a little stiffly, "thanks."  
  
Sara, curse her, played innocent. "What for, Hermione?"  
  
I resisted the impulse to scowl. "For holding up that boy back there."  
  
"Oh, Adam, you mean? The one I was talking to?"  
  
Now I did scowl slightly. "Yes, you know. The one who was signaled to follow me."  
  
She raised an eyebrow witheringly. "Now, how do you know I wasn't just stopping to talk with him about the Arrows?"  
  
Fine. I didn't have to take that. If she were going to play games, then I'd quit. I turned away.  
  
I heard a sigh, and then a tap on the shoulder. I turned again stonily.  
  
"You're welcome. I don't think you have to thank me, but you're welcome. Just stop thinking everything revolves around you, it doesn't always."  
  
I glared, a little uneasily. Do I act that way, or was that just Blustovadk being a prat again? In any case, I don't feel very safe any longer. I remember with a touch of embarrassment while riding in one of the carriages back to the castle that I had Snape's chain. Still, not being able to walk around a small village without being stalked was pretty bad. I wondered if that had anything to do with the Society for Purity when I remembered that a few others, like Natalie McDonald, had also been a bit separated from the crowd – other Muggle-borns. There has to be something we can do, but I have no clue what.  
  
15 December, later  
  
There was a meeting of the CC tonight. Awkwardness galore, with me carefully avoiding Harry. This was made more difficult by the fact that Sirius and Lupin weren't there. I had been counting on that distraction. Lisa and Chelsea were still talking to me… if a little strained. The Slytherins are interested, but don't really care about anyone slighting Ginny, and Chelsea's never really fit the mold of "evil Slytherin" to begin with. So she just sort of said "hi" casually and chatted vaguely about Quidditch, eyes intense as she watched the level two senior members come in and comment shrewdly on them. She fits her House in some ways:  
  
"Well, Johansson isn't late for once, there's a first… someone please tell Page that no one is forcing him to come to this and he can just go… maybe Payne will, I'm betting… just where is Lupin, he's usually one of the first here… oh, look. Poor Ms. Hansen's *nail* broke…" (Okay, I admit to snickering at that one.) "… we'll have to send her condolence cards… say, Harry and Ernie are talking. Imagine that. Wasn't Ernie all over him a few years ago, saying he was the Heir of Slytherin?"  
  
I glanced over at the two; Harry was grinning while Ernie animatedly acted out a bit of dialogue.  
  
Chelsea shook her head in amazement. "Well! Some people can forgive and forget, I suppose. I never could. Harry's really funny that way, though. It's odd, having him as a classmate. Especially after –" she glanced sideways at me " – no, Hermione, not because of his fame and what happened. Not quite. I just mean, well, you're Muggle-born. Lisa could tell you. All during our childhoods, our parents have been telling us when we do something wrong: 'Do you think Harry Potter would do that?' It was just amazing to come here and find out that he was a normal kid. I suppose I should have known, but…" She trailed off and shrugged. "Right, Lisa?"  
  
"Oh, you bet. I don't think I had it as bad, because my parents knew his slightly, but it was incredible when he lost all those points in our first year. I owled Mum straight away, something along the line of 'So there'!"  
  
I giggled, but felt a little cheated. I had read so many things on Harry, but never did any books mention things like what went on in the home. And I looked again at Harry and felt immediately jealous of Ernie. The "my-family-goes-back-so-and-so-generations-as-"purebloods" Ernie. I suppose *he* doesn't realize what it's like to have to hurt your friends to protect them.  
  
Lisa carefully avoided any mention of the fight… but she sounded more strained than Chelsea. I think she was a little put off, and she made double sure not to mention anything related to Quidditch, the *Daily Prophet*, boyfriends, or Weasleys. It was most embarrassing with Grace Zambia, though.  
  
Oh! I wanted to write quick and get to work on my History of Magic essay, but I have got to mention Grace Zambia, who managed to attend the CC meeting.  
  
Zambia was late and completely unapologetic for it. She swept in like a bat, eyes looking around disdainfully before delicately pulling up a chair. As Ernie pointed out, the room seemed to chill a bit with her entrance. She moderately tall and thin, with dark hair that came past her shoulders, glinting silver at the edges, hiding her face. Although when you see her face, not only is it olive, it looks a little like a bird's. A bad- tempered bird that needs to eat more, that is. Her mouth was set tightly and she listened more than she talked; she spent her time staring around at each and every one of us, fixing her eyes on us in turn and making us nervous, jumpy, and uncomfortable. When she did talk, it was like her hands were on reigns – she controlled every pitch, syllable, and breath to it's fullest capabilities of disagreeableness, playing her voice like a instrument – a musical saw at a deathday party is the closest one I can find to it.  
  
"So this is Granger," she said, when Mrs. Gondola introduced her to the junior level one. "The one flirting with the Quidditch stars… I suppose they can't see her face with their eyes so bloody."  
  
The Nurses, Page, and Bell tittered, and it didn't make me feel much better when Miss Payne gave her trouble throughout the meeting. I was mortified.  
  
"So that's why no one likes her," Chelsea decided after the meeting in a low undertone. "Why'd she glare at Payne like poison?"  
  
"Because nearly everyone else does?" Lisa guessed.  
  
She had quite a point. And now I really want to finish this essay and start to pack – holiday starts tomorrow. I can't wait to go home and get away from Hogwarts for a while. Then I can worry about everything later.  
  
16 December  
  
I decided to watch the last Quidditch practice in high hopes that we could prevent the other Houses, but particularly Slytherin, from winning the Cup. Most of Gryffindor came to watch, so I had to sit a bit apart, but I concentrated on the flying. I was impressed for the most part. Even Snape, overseeing the practices with all the Dark Activity (and it's also part of the Order of the Phoenix, Educational Facilities Guidelines Chapter 5 – Sports and Games – Subtitle 1: "All events and practices can and will be supervised by a trusted adult of authority."), was hard-pressed to find much to sneer at. In fact, only Sara gave him anything to pick on, but she did it with style. Her Shooting Star got temperamental on her and started jerking. I saw this at the beginning of practice but didn't say anything. Toward the end of practice she was thrown off from about fifty feet in the air. For a second, I felt horrified – she had well saved my life yesterday, and if she died now, this was my fault for not saying anything!  
  
But George, bless him, went into a spectacular dive: "Sara – no!" He shot down like Hunter Greene's Arrow and managed to catch her. I don't know how; it went so fast, but it was pretty incredible. I really cheered George, and wasn't the only one. All of us in the stands were.  
  
"All right, George!" Alicia grinned. "The Weasley talent's definitely in you!" Fred gave him a thump on the back and Katie gave him a kiss. "I reckon I ought to start paying you for your services. You've saved the damsel in distress how many times this year?" Sara joked weakly, still shaky from her fall.  
  
Snape was not amused. "Are you all right, Miss Blustovadk?" he asked coldly, sounding as though he very much wished she wasn't.  
  
"Thanks to George here, yes, sir."  
  
"It's not safe," was Snape's only acknowledgment of her answer. "Those can't stand up to Quidditch play, those Shooting Stars. In trying to keep up with the other Chaser's Comets, you're simply endangering yourself and others. If you don't appear after Christmas with a rideable broomstick you shall be suspended from the team. Is that clear?"  
  
The Gryffindor team all tried to protest, saying that it was merely Christmas anticipation that had gotten into Sara's flying. But no, Snape held firm, and while that's one way of getting her off the Quidditch team, it was also not quite… right.  
  
16 December, later  
  
I hate them. Don't they have anything better to do with their miserable lives? Why can't anyone stop this? I'm on the Hogwarts Express now and I keep thinking that it's going to topple over or something. They just won't leave me alone, will they?  
  
I finished packing just about everything last night. I went to breakfast this morning, avoiding everyone with the trusty cover of a book. By the way, I've learned a lot of interesting things from extra background reading lately. I never knew half of that stuff on Wand Variations! Did you know that there's a piece of Dark Magic to make something called a "Dark Copy" off any random wand in the world? It appears to be an exact copy of the original, although its sparks are a little darker, and it works better with curses and not quite as good with regular things, unless there's evil intent. All right, all right, I suppose with times like these that's not really something to be excited about – who knows…? – but it's fascinating! Fancy being the person to discover charms and spells and entirely new enchantments likes that! I think I'd love to be an enchantment developer. That would be completely wonderful. I'm going to try and find a book on that.  
  
But, well, back to the not-so-good thing: I went back to our dormitory and found that my things had been ransacked. My sheets had been tossed askew again, with a note pinned to them that read: "Merry Christmas". My schoolbag was slashed *again* – Flitwick's going to get suspicious about those seaming charms sooner or later. My clothes… and not just my clothes, my, you know, private wear… had been turned inside out and some of it was ripped. Ink was spilled all over the cloak for Mum. Pages had been torn out of books – both ones I own and ones on loan. My *Hogwarts: A History* was ripped, torn, scribbled upon, dog-eared, soaked, and the binding was damaged! This is it! And then there was another of those rude notes:  
  
Mudblood – (can't they find an more original greeting?)  
  
You're taking an awful long time to pack. Suppose we shouldn't expect a Mudblood to be clever enough to figure out how to do that. You are staying home, aren't you? Books aren't the only things we can damage.  
  
-- The Society for Purity  
  
P.S. Interesting choice of underwear.  
  
How *dare* they!  
  
Complete and utter gits, that's what. Ron's terming is quite handy.  
  
Ron. *Ron.* He's on the train, too, all the Weasleys are. Can you believe? They're leaving for Christmas, and *not* taking Harry! What's with that? Poor Harry, he'd really enjoy a Christmas at the Burrow! I tried to ask about it, but, well, not only do I have to "lay low", they're not talking to me. I think – and I hope dearly – that there's something immediately important that they couldn't put off that they can't take anyone out of family for. Now I feel dreadful. Harry's all alone for Christmas at school. And practically no Gryffindors are there. All the families want their children home, with all the concern about the Dark Activity. Except Sara. She's staying, too. I swear, I will *scream* if I come back and they're all chummy. How much can one girl stand? No! That would be… urgh! I almost wish I could stay now. But not only did I *vow* – a Hermione Vow – I doubt he wants my company right now. And I don't want the Society for Purity to get any ideas.  
  
Back to the Society. There's one thing that really puzzles me and really worries me. How'd they get in the Gryffindor Tower? I've thought and thought and thought. The only person to get in who wasn't a – current – Gryffindor and not a McGonagall was Sirius. But Neville's been really careful as of late on those passwords. I don't think I've ever forgotten the Howler. And Neville… he tries, he really does, and every year he gets a little less… careless. Oh, that's not the word, he's not careless at all, but "dim" just sounds rude. And he's not. He's actually fairly bright. He's just not… schoolish.  
  
But back to the point: There's a *traitor* in Gryffindor. Now just who on earth could that be? They're in with the Society, obviously… who revealed the password?  
  
And that's it. That's *it*. I'm going to work on *Fiddle Girl* for now, and I'm not going to worry about the Society for Purity. This is a holiday. I don't want to worry Mum and Dad. Sometimes parents need to be protected against themselves. I'm going to hum Christmas carols and finally give poor Jinni a nice day. I'm going to enjoy the snowy scenery and read *Innovations of the Lesser-Known Hufflepuff*. I'm not going to feel guilty about Harry or anyone else. I am *helping* them. I'm going to daydream about what presents I'm going to get and worry about nothing more pressing than on how to deal with the yearly Putting Up With The Cousins Miller.  
  
16 December, later  
  
Okay, so I lied.  
  
17 December  
  
Oh, I might be turning into a witch, but I don't think I'll ever lose the feeling of comfort I get lying on the bed in my own nice, familiar childhood room in Oxford. Never. There's something wonderfully calming about looking about your bedroom and knowing precisely where there's a tiny paint stain on the wall, or where in the corner the wallpaper doesn't quite match, or at that horrid picture of the person with the long hair and guitar with his wolf and parrot that Mum *insists* hangs in your room ("That was painted by my friend Otto; he'll be famous one day!") or that photo of the Beatles in the doorway that *Dad* insists is not to go ("Every young girl wants a picture of the Beatles in her room!"). And even that stupid little smiling tooth alarm clock! And the knowledge that your windows both face the west, so you can watch every sunset, and the exact view from each. Whew. I love familiar things. I want to be famous and do something splendid one day, but I also want an annoying replica of an overgrown tooth to wake me up while I do it.  
  
I hugged Mum and Dad so tight when I got off the train that I think they had to catch their breath. Unsympathetically I didn't let go for a long moment, trying very hard not to cry.  
  
"She wants something, Beth," Dad said warningly.  
  
"Oh, Dad!" Can't he ever take anything seriously? Thank goodness he doesn't!  
  
"No, don't give me 'oh dad'. What is it? You want to invite a boy from school over from the holidays? I don't think your Viktor will put up with me double-crossing him and giving him the Scotland Yard for a solid hour again."  
  
I sighed, my sheer joy fading slightly as I remembered my Viktor worries. "Dad, he's not my Viktor."  
  
"Hope it's not the other way around," he said worriedly.  
  
"Alex," Mum scolded sternly.  
  
"Money, then. Hitting me for money again." Dad sighed exaggeratedly.  
  
"No! Let's get my things, okay?"  
  
Mum glanced at him sardonically. "Or can't you handle that?"  
  
I grinned. But as we went to collect my suitcase, Cassandra Nott of Slytherin spotted me.  
  
"Watch out, Mudblood," she hissed. "Merry Christmas."  
  
"The same to you, Cassandra," I said coolly.  
  
Dad asked me if that was a "friend of mine, the Slytherin in the CC?" as we grabbed a trolley.  
  
"No, just a classmate. Sort of," I replied sardonically, quickly changing the subject. "When are Andrew and Lissie coming over?"  
  
Mum caught my wariness, and her eyes twinkled. "Oh, I'm not sure," she said offhandedly.  
  
I froze, remembering the last time I heard those words.  
  
"In fact, we made an important decision regarding your darling cousins," Dad continued solemnly.  
  
"Oh, stop torturing the girl," Mum snapped lovingly. "Hermione, Aunt Jan and I decided to have Christmas separate this year."  
  
"I won't be seeing Andrew and Lissie this year?" I gasped joyfully. "Ye --! Er, sorry. That's your niece and nephew, I forgot."  
  
Mum pretended to sternly raise an eyebrow, but she, too, was grinning. "I hope you intend to send them a nice Christmas card."  
  
Trust me, that was no problem at all. I did so cheerfully. ("Hoping your holiday is as nice as mine…") Dad hissed to me that Andrew and Lissie would have driven the Roberts crazy.  
  
"Blessed be 'Manda and Tom," he finished seriously. "You'll be good for them, right?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "No, I was thinking of booby trapping the guestroom and chewing with my mouth open."  
  
"That's my Hermione." Dad was getting on my nerves. He kept implying that I was too subdued. Honestly. I'm *fine*. I'm sure not telling everything that went on the last term, but I am fine. Right? But I'm home again, and for now that's all that matters.  
  
19 December  
  
Mum and Dad were nice enough to wait until I got home to do heavy Christmas decorating. (I think they're trying to bribe me into going home for holiday more often.) We went to Markie's lot to choose a Christmas tree and get the DC (Mum thinks that means "Darling Cousins" but it's really "Demon Children".) I was thrilled to see Markie. Oh! Markie has a girlfriend, Millierna.  
  
It was Millierna who was at the cashier and when we said we'd like to speak to our friend Markie, she grinned and blushed. When I said: "Merry Christmas, Markie!" she grinned and blushed. Whenever anyone said "Markie", she grinned and blushed. It was hilarious, and I didn't dare glance at Dad for fear I couldn't keep a straight face. But she's pretty, with deep fawn brown hair and a perfect figure and nice enough. If Markie likes her, who was I to say anything?  
  
There were only a few trees and most in varying degrees of scragliness, but we choose a small dark fir that looked rather stately even for its diminutive height and had great fun decorating it. We also purchased a good many greens from Markie (Millierna: grin, blush) and strung them on the mantel place. Then Dad announced we should leave the rest to Mum when she got an enthused glint in her eye while staring at the banister.  
  
He needn't have worried; Mum merely strung it with glittering holly- and-berry garland. But I soon found it was an excuse to cross-examine me. "Hermione? Are you all right?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You're very quiet."  
  
I shrugged. "I usually am."  
  
"Anything wrong?" Dad looked like Madam Pomfrey, eyes searching mine.  
  
"No," I said, trying not to sound annoyed.  
  
"If you want to go back to your school –"  
  
"Dad – no!" I burst.  
  
I'll be happy when the Roberts come tomorrow. Then he can't pester me as mine.  
  
21 December  
  
Oh, I am glad the Roberts came. Amanda and Thomas are wonderful and very nice. Dad picked them up from the station yesterday, and they're great. Amanda is taller, with thick curly hair cut boyishly and fine clear- cut features. Tom is slightly shorter, very funny and laid-back. They're also musical (what's with musical acquaintances as of late?). Amanda adores the Kinks. She is absolutely dead gone on them. Tom plays guitar and has agreed that he could show me a few things, since it's my first chance to make good on the vow of learning to play an instrument. He gets a funny reverent tone when talking of vintage instruments, particularly guitars, which Amanda regards loftily. On the other hand, he tolerates her Kinks fixation in much the same manner. They're very funny. I admire them because even though they've just lost "Dolly" (Tom's father) they're very upbeat and determined to be good guests.  
  
24 December  
  
You know, it's funny, but I almost miss Andrew and Lissie. I feel as if it's been a long time I've been able to talk to anyone near my age… Lisa and Chelsea are about all. And even Amanda and Thomas don't like going outside very long. They'll throw a few snowballs, but that's about it. Dad says it's too cold and too wet; Mum says she's too busy. I tramp about in the woods a bit, but usually come back in after a while.  
  
Tom was good as his word, though, and we've begun guitar lessons. He says that with luck, and hearing from Mum and Dad how diligent I was, that I would be able to reach the third string by the time he had to go. Thomas can play all six strings fairly easily, but he says he's met a lot of people who are better than him.  
  
"Can you play 'You Really Got Me' yet?" Amanda demands.  
  
Thomas shook his head patiently. "Not yet. Give me another decade."  
  
One Kink song is called "Father Christmas", and considering the date Amanda has an excuse to play it a lot. The thing is, it sort of ruins my mood, because whenever I hear Ray Davies singing: "Give all the toys… to all the rich boys!" I keep thinking of Malfoy. Ew. Not on Christmas Eve!  
  
But I suppose we'll have fun this evening, however. (I also think Mum's going to ban "Father Christmas" until at least Boxing Day.)  
  
25 December  
  
We did have fun last evening and today. We went to church yesterday afternoon at around sunset. I saw Missy Parks but I ignored her and all hissings of "freak". If she only knew I could turn her into a toad – (never mind that I wouldn't; just that I could) – and when she asked: "Read any *books* lately?" I wished I could reply nonchalantly: "Oh, yes; it's called *Ins and Outs of Levitation Charms*.  
  
But it was nice to see some other people. Most from my old school barely recognize me; can you imagine that? (Although Missy said it was my hair that everyone vaguely recalled.) But Brenda Milroy did and demanded that we sit next to her. She kept whispering all through the service. I tried to politely shake her off, and Mum and Amanda kept glancing at mortified me looking very amused.  
  
At least that dinner was worth it. Yes, yes, I sound like Ron, but after my diary entry yesterday, I spent the entire day running errands – to Markie's (blush and grin!), to the cellar, to the storeroom, to the cupboard, to the neighbours to borrow this or that, to the post office to send these cards… but finally, after all the chaos, it was worth it.  
  
(House elves have to go through that on a regular basis. I feel old juices stirring up.)  
  
But I mostly enjoyed the time afterward. There was a light snow out the window, and we only had candles and the Christmas tree lights (I find too much electricity a little irritating after Hogwarts anyway) and Mum played at the grand piano while we sang along with Christmas carols. Amanda has a nice voice. Mum's is more on pitch; but hers is richer. (I still prefer Mum, though, of course.)  
  
We exchanged gifts the next morning, since the Roberts and I will be gone on the Epiphany. Mum got me a dress, which I squinted at suspiciously when she wasn't looking. (Just where does she want me to wear that? It's lovely, but deep green velvet is not exactly something you wear to Markie's…) Dad got me the video cassette tape of *It's A Wonderful Life* and whispered that it was a throw off, he had my "real" present set but couldn't give it to me while Manda and Tom were there, by which I concluded it's magical. The Roberts (with an apologetic manner, saying they didn't know quite what to get me) got me two gift certificates for a nice amount – one for Greene's Bookstore, and another for Tomorrow's Ladies' Clothes Rack. Mum *adored* the shawl, and we had a hearty laugh over the rubber spider Mum and I have been saving since last year for Dad.  
  
Dad blinked. "It's…"  
  
"Ribbit!"  
  
It was better than I had imagined!  
  
  
  
27 December  
  
At the very least, it's snowing harder, and I might decide to go sledding later. For right now, we're all in the living room, and we're watching the end of *Jonathan's Christmas*. (Personally, I think it's a little sappy…) In fact, I badly want to go now, but Mum whispered that it's rude in the middle of a group film. I also sort of want to get some homework done, but that involves another forbidden activity for the moment – going to my room and locking the door. This is a bit of an inconvenience, but then again, Tom did teach me how to play two strings on the guitar, and Amanda is funny.  
  
Furthermore, I don't want to go back to school. I almost want to give up the whole thing. *Everyone* hates me there now, and I'm just putting my parents and myself in danger. On the other hand… I'd be gone! I cannot give Malfoy that satisfaction. It would sting entirely too much. And… and I want to be an enchantments developer, and there aren't too many in the Muggle world. And I can't talk to Mum and Dad about it (well, technically I could, but I don't *want* to…)  
  
The film is over – thank heavens – and it's getting gustier. Dad, Thomas, and Amanda are dealing out a card game while Mum takes out her novel Dad got her for Christmas. I don't know the title, hold on –  
  
Say, something was at the window. I feel sorry for all the animals outside; it's freezing. It's called *A Year To Forget*. That sounds dead depressing to me. If you want to *forget* a year, that's pretty bad. Almost like –  
  
Knock at the door. Like I was saying –  
  
Oh my goodness, that's Sirius! Is he *mental*?!  
  
A/N: Bhwawawa! 


	14. A Sirius Errand

**A/N: This chapter was supposed to span until Hermione was in school one full week. However, she and Sirius had a sort of rapport going on and I didn't want to stop it and hadn't the heart to erase when I re-read! I left you at another cliffhanger, and this chapter is a really mean fill-in, and I apologize heartily for that. But hey, who really argues with fiction featuring Sirius? *grin* I swear that I've begun work on the next chapter and will *try* to get it up soon. (If it makes up for this rather odd chapter, I'm almost done with "Serendipity"... maybe two more weeks at most.) Again, I'm sorry and wish it didn't leave off here, but I can't make my .txt file any bigger! Forgive me? *puppy dog eyes***  
  
**A very sincere thanks as always to my reviewers: Ayla Pascal, DJ, Julia, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Lily Evans, Sorensen, and Tess. I still think I don't deserve the good things you say and need a *lot* more criticism, but thank you very much as always. :-)   
  
Chapter 14: A Sirius Errand**  


  
  
29 December  
  
So much for a nice, normal, magic-and-worry free holiday.   
  
Let's see… I left off right when Sirius knocked at the door, Mum put her novel down to open it, and Sirius stepped in. In moments like this, it's scary how the side door opens straight into the living room. I was in shock for a moment.   
  
Sirius gave me what I can only describe as a warning glance… and Warning Glance probably warrants capitals. "Well, well, happy holidays to you all," he said, and immediately I could tell he wasn't talking normally. His words were more measured. In fact, I was reminded of Snape… which was shortly explained: "Mrs. Granger, I take it? I'm Professor Snape, Po - " he eyed Thomas and Amanda - "Chemistry, a teacher of Hermione's from school."  
  
I bit my tongue to contradict him. I saw an unholy glint in Sirius's bright blue eyes and could practically hear a little kid's voice: "I'm impersonating Sna-ape… I'm impersonating Sna-ape… and he would kill me if he kne-ew it…"  
  
"O-Oh…" Mum managed weakly, blinking at Sirius. I'm sure that she doesn't hear the same things on Snape that Mrs. Weasley does, but still… she's heard enough to be a little wary, especially since Sirius wasn't doing too well at hiding a grin. Dad looked on in very decided interest, probably ready to "get" him for Snape's crimes.  
  
"Erm, happy holidays to you, too…" Mum said. "Er - I take it -"  
  
"Problems with Hermione's behaviour, I'm sure," Dad chipped in with a wink. If this _had_ been Snape, I would have died of embarrassment. As it was, it was pretty bad.  
  
"A given, sir," Sirius replied dourly, eying me with distaste. "However, that is not the point of my errand today. The school is conducting some interesting experiments and Headmaster Dumbledore wanted me to fetch Miss Granger to help with some of the finer points…" His lip curled just slightly, the words coming as painfully as Snape would have said them. I almost could have laughed. Sirius is an awfully good actor.  
  
It was also the right thing to say. You could just see Mum start to beam. Dad grinned, slightly pleased. Honestly - parents are so easy to hook wind.   
  
"When's the experiment, sir?" I asked promptly, having wild suspicions as to what Sirius was up to.   
  
"If you can be spared, we'd like to borrow you today."  
  
"As in - right now?" Dad asked, surprised.  
  
Sirius, eyes half open, as if in mocking thought, nodded hilariously in very short movements. "Yes, that sounds about right," feigning slight, Snape-like exasperation.  
  
"Oh." This was Mum and Dad together, and then Mum: "Hermione? Would you - like - to accompany Professor Snape?"  
  
"Yes," I said instantly. "It'll be thrilling."  
  
Dad blinked. "What is?"  
  
"Er - the, the experiment. I heard about it before I went home for holiday and have been hoping all week I'd be chosen for it," I said earnestly.   
  
"Well, you have been, Miss Granger," Sirius said dryly. I risked glancing at him. He had purposefully greased up his hair - leaving no stones unturned, I supposed. I was incredulous in regard to him - as if my parents and the Roberts haven't seen a million wanted pictures of him! Faking Prof. Snape!  
  
Yet it sounded so very Sirius.   
  
"If your parents consent, it's about time to move along," Sirius continued, tapping his wrist, (he wasn't wearing a watch) and giving Mum and Dad an impatient glare.  
  
They exchanged a look.   
  
"See here, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I have a note from the headmaster right here -"  
  
"No, no, that won't be necessary," Mum said quickly. "Hermione? Positive you want to go?"  
  
I nodded quickly. "Yes. Please, Mum."  
  
They granted permission, and I gave each a hug in turn. Sirius - who seemed to be having entirely too much fun with this - acted out a very Snapeish leaving, with cool stares and short replies to the farewells. "Miss Granger, are we planning to leave any time, oh,_ today_?"  
  
I waited until we were out of earshot of the house. Sirius led me to the woods. "Sirius, what are we doing?"  
  
"Playing Aurors, actually. Nice to see you too, Hermione," he grinned teasingly.   
  
I returned it dubiously. "Come on, Sirius, I lied my head off to my parents and now I want to be reassured I did the right thing. Why did you come as Professor Snape?"  
  
His grin widened even while his eyes were intent and serious. "I like to masquerade as him on my travels…"  
  
I stared at him in slight horror, but somehow I wasn't very surprised. "You do? Say, very often?"  
  
"Nearly all the time," he said with a casual wink. "And it was a lot more fun to lower your parents opinion of Snape than anyone else up there. Speaking of which -" he withdrew a wand; I decided against asking whose it was or where he got it " - I've got to get this stuff out of my hair. Wasn't sure if you had mentioned that, our scholar, but I wasn't taking any chances." He used a charm I hadn't heard of before. "Okay, we're going to need to Double Apparate."  
  
"Sirius, that's ille…" I trailed off. Like Sirius would care.  
  
True to my suspicions, he shrugged. "I do a lot of that."  
  
"Can you do it?" I asked doubtfully.  
  
Sirius assured me on that point that he was utterly competent on that. "There were too many uses for it to not learn to do it properly." I hesitated. "Okay, maybe I'm rushing this. Shall I explain it all quite carefully?"  
  
"Yes, that would help. Especially if I find out why you so desperately needed me."  
  
"And, by the way, I congratulate you on your expert acting skills, Miss Granger, they were excellent. All right, we're going to pay a visit to a place I expect you'll faint with bliss from - Carquel's stronghold."  
  
I stood dumbstruck.  
  
"Yes, the very same. You know of it, do you not?"  
  
"Carquel's stronghold, built in 1879, suspected to be in the midst of Gilonean Wood, is surrounded by many wild and fanatical rumours, stemming from the mystery surround Q. Carquel himself. Born in 1768, Carquel's life is largely unknown. He attended Hogwarts and graduated a Ravenclaw and a prefect. He spent the years post-graduation disappearing from British wizarding society and retreating to his own devices, which largely concerned learning and knowledge -"  
  
Sirius nodded. "That's about right. No need to go further, I just wanted to know if you knew."  
  
I realized I had been blabbing a bit and blushed.   
  
"Well, lucky lucky us, we happen to know how to get to Carquel's."  
  
"Where? How? Is he really going to like us coming in? And what do you need me for? Why not Harry?"  
  
"It's in Gilonean Wood, as you said; Remus spent a year there and unbeknownst to Carquel mapped the area, something which will not amuse him - Carquel, I mean; no, he probably won't, but that's beside the point and I'll get to it in a minute; I need someone with a high amount of brains for backup and likely to distract the Nowhere Man -"  
  
"The Nowhere Man?" I snickered.  
  
"I would have liked to take Harry but he's at Hogwarts, much to my chagrin, and I'm not supposed to try and break into Gryffindor Tower for a while."  
  
"I'm sure the Fat Lady would appreciate that," I muttered, and regretted it, for a flash of hurt went through Sirius's eyes. "So what are we going to do?"  
  
"We're going to check for signs of any Death Eater attacks, if we can't get Carquel to tell us straight out… which I doubt."   
  
"Isn't Carquel a bit - a bit - dangerous?" I asked hesitantly. "Mad, like? And what are you playing at, you're wanting and everyone in England knows it…"  
  
"Hermione, you insult me," Sirius said, feigning offence. "Do you mean I really look like the pictures on those posters and such?"  
  
I eyed Sirius critically. It _has_ always been a bit of a shock to see Sirius's pictures on the television and posters lately, because Sirius doesn't look a thing like them. In the pictures his face is sunken badly, he's in dire need of a barbershop, and you couldn't even tell his eye colour. His face is usually serious, but looking at him as he is now, he looks a lot healthier, his hair is trimmed neatly, his blue eyes sparkle when he sees Harry or right now, as he was still grinning over his Snape Masquerade, and truthfully, he looks quite handsome. I barely recognize him from the pictures still circulating in both the magic and Muggle worlds… except when his eyes go dull and flat, thinking of Azkaban. In fact, it's amazing that anyone could have spent twelve years there and retained his spirit so well.   
  
"No, definitely not," I replied. "Still, this isn't my parents; this is _Carquel_ - he doesn't seem to be any dummy, and he can probably recognize you if no one else can."  
  
Sirius smiled knowingly. "Hermione."  
  
I waited. "Yes?"  
  
"So he'll take me for the infamous Sirius Black, escaped convict from Azkaban. This is the ultimate Ravenclaw gone wrong we're talking about, the one who never informed the outside world his home was attacked by Death Eaters. When he first sees me, what's the first thing he does?" I hesitated. "He wants information, and trusts his own mind more than the Aurors' or dementors' or Hit Squad's. The first thing he'll want to know is how I managed to stay sane and functional after twelve years in Azkaban." He sighed, looking a bit more sober. "See? There are advantages to being an Azkaban escapee, believe it or not. He won't dare hurt us until his knowledge is satisfied; hopefully by then we'll know what we want to know. Do you trust me well enough to Apparate to Gilonean Wood now?"  
  
I sighed and nodded. "Isn't is dangerous for someone so young?"  
  
Sirius drew his wand. "Remus's mother taught_ him _to when he was seven."  
  
I jerked my head, forgetting that I shouldn't be making any sudden moves while Sirius was concentrating. "No!"  
  
"Yes. I wish my parents had taken that viewpoint. It was some sort of Refrudian trick." I discovered another thing Sirius didn't seem to want to talk about - his parents. Remembering the tales I had read on Arisuis Black, I almost couldn't blame him. "Set?"  
  
I braced myself.  
  
"Relax if you don't want to be splinched." Sirius waited until he was certain I was "relaxed" and gave his wand an expert spin, saying "_Apperio_". It only took a blink before I found myself in another, darker forest.   
  
"Welcome… to Gilonean Wood," Sirius hissed dramatically. "A few other things I need to warn you about while we walk - can't Apparate, I would bet my life Carquel has a way to prevent_ that_… we have three goals: determine if there's been any Death Eaters around lately."  
  
"Determine if there's been any presence of Death Eaters lately," I repeated to show I was paying attention. "There will probably damage?"  
  
Sirius sighed. "Yes, and that's the difficult part. According to Remus, this place is gigantic. He said he never even saw all of it -"  
  
"So why didn't Professor Lupin come with us?"  
  
Sirius shook his head, hiding a smirk that I didn't think had anything to do with his answer: "Because when he left Carquel, it was on pretty nasty terms. It's a long story and not mine to tell, but there was a fair bit of shouting on both sides. Furthermore, overprotective canine that I am, I was worried about him getting too banged up right now. There's a full moon day tomorrow night. But he did happen to leave us a map." Sirius produced a piece of parchment, which was marked meticulously with complicated passages and corridors.   
  
"Looks worse than Hogwarts, even," I commented.  
  
"Just about. We had to decided where the Death Eaters would go if they had come here - and it wasn't easy." Sirius rubbed the back of his neck in thoughtful exasperation. "We figured they'd go after artifacts with interesting powers, though, since they can develop the rest of it themselves if they really, really applied themselves." He traced the way to the Artifacts Wing. It was difficult to follow. "That's where I want you to sneak off to if at all possible. Tell Carquel you're studying them for an O.W.L. project or whatnot. See if there's anything that looks missing." I nodded. "I'm also going to diplomatically ask Carquel about it flat-out."  
  
I grinned. "Sirius, no offence, but you and 'diplomatically' were two concepts I never connected."  
  
"All right, know-it-all, you ask, then," he smirked. "The second goal is to see if in the Artifacts Wing if there's any Eselilnac Eye charms or if there ever was at any time."   
  
"Whatever for?"  
  
Sirius sighed. "Another long story, and, frankly, I'm not supposed to tell you. I get to it later, though. We also want to confirm any rumours that a nice happy group of Death Eaters -" he made an indistinct scoffing noise " - really sent a werewolf over here last week."  
  
I blinked. "Er - in wolf form?"  
  
"Yeah. Nice neighbourly thing to do, I reckon."  
  
"Sirius, you just said the full moon is tomorrow."  
  
Sirius looked incredulous. "They're still not teaching you anything about the Lycoas Charm?"  
  
I shook my head, wincing. I didn't like the sound of this already.  
  
Sirius shook his head in exasperation. "Hermione, I hate to say it, but our education system is terrible. Harry didn't know a thing about Bendall's Curse; _you_ don't know anything about the Lycoas Charm; even Percy Weasley couldn't tell precisely what having an Eselilnac Eye meant. A Lycoas Charm can be used to make a werewolf transform at any moment, willing or not. Works in reverse, too, can stop the transformation."  
  
"D-Did Professor Lupin ever try that?" I asked hesitantly.  
  
"Once," Sirius said, a little shortly, "and that's another story that I don't have the right to tell. In any case, we'll probably just have to check the entrances for that - any claw-like damage is a bit of a giveaway. Keep the map; I've got it memorized."  
  
"Sirius?" I asked presently as the forest began to thin. I had noticed him adopting a look of satisfaction and concluded that we were getting closer to the stronghold.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Is this terribly dangerous? Like, might I die?"  
  
Sirius sighed. "I'll confess this to you - there's a chance, a slight chance, that, well, yes, you might. Frankly, that's why I waited until after Christmas." I felt myself blanch. "But listen, the risk is surprisingly small, and I've also got this for you." From his pocket he pulled a ring. "This is a Portkey, in case of emergency, that'll take you straight to Patty Millry's. You know of her?"  
  
"Auror Millry attended Refrudula and graduated 1945; was an Auror from 1957 to 1960, helped Alastor Moody and Katrina Mead with the defeat of the Dark Witch Darmintry; was a writer under the nom de plume Miranda Goshawk; wrote _Footsteps_, the officially standardized Charms textbook set, the first standardized Defence Against the Dark Arts set, later replaced by Elisabeth Powell's; co-wrote the _Monster Book of Monsters_ with Charles Rossington; headed the CC in the early 70s, taught -" I caught Sirius looking slightly incredulous at my recital. "Yes, I do," I corrected, thankful that he at least hadn't interrupted him. Sirius is nice that way.  
  
"Well, she and Moody, who's over there at the moment, know that if anything goes wrong you might show up in their living room." He smirked. "Might be an incentive for them to behave, too."  
  
"You're worse than Dad," I murmured.  
  
"And, like I said, if anything was to seriously go wrong, we feign pathetic scholars until Remus arrives. I swear, Carquel is too interested in what I know to attack immediately…"  
  
"Oh - my - goodness!" I burst out at that moment, rather loudly, as we entered a huge clearing with this white… building… that was… was… gigantic. This was… big. You really could get lost it here. From where I stood, it stretched out forever and ever. This was no castle or mansion - this was a big white structure. "Stronghold" is the closest word for it.   
  
Sirius looked impressed, too. "Wow. This would make a good Quidditch field if it was cleared out."  
  
I shot him an equally incredulous sideways glance._ Sports_ - is that all males think about?   
  
He took a deep breath as any dreams of starting his own team and stadium slowly faded; now looking ever so slightly tense. "Well. Ready?"  
  
"I suppose," I said doubtfully, trying very hard not to think of death. Instead, I thought of the wonder of it all. I, Hermione Elizabeth Granger, was going to be in _Carquel's Stronghold_.   
  
I have to use Ron's vocabulary - that was pretty cool.  
  
Sirius smiled encouragingly. "You'll do fine. I picked you specifically for this." Well, that was a heartening remark. Sirius was "one of the most brilliant students in the school", had helped to write the Marauder's Map, had become an Animagus at fifteen, had learned to Double Apparate, and, well, you get the picture.  
  
"What entrance?" I asked.  
  
"Good question." He examined the sketchy map. "Not this one," he nodded to the entrance at the short side we were facing with a greenhouse near it. "The one of the south… not chilly, are you?"  
  
I raised an eyebrow. "Fine time to ask, now that we're going_ inside_."   
  
"Carquel doesn't believe in 'climate altering devices' such as, say, fireplaces, except in specific wings."  
  
I gaped. "He's crazy; this is the coldest part of England!"  
  
Sirius chuckled. "I never said he wasn't crazy, did I? Oh, one more thing to test out before we enter." He handed me a peppermint humbug. I took it, glanced at it rolling in the palm of my hand, and looked up into his grinning face. "MS Peppermint, Marauder Specialty Mind-Speak. Look, put one in your mouth." Sirius did the same, and next thing I knew his voice rang in my head. _One of our better little fiddling inventions, really.   
_  
"I can hear you!" I burst out.  
  
_Yeah, and if you directly talk with me in your mind, I can hear you, too.  
_  
_Come on, you must be putting me on…  
  
You still doubt me?  
  
If you can really hear and understand me, raise your right hand.  
_  
Sirius raised his right arm._ I hate this specific instruction stuff,_ he communicated to me, even his mind-voice conveying amusement. _These last fifteen minutes. The second you feel the connection fading, eat another. He handed me a handful. We'll try not to stay too long, though, it took Remus and me, oh, about two weeks to remember how to re-do these. Thank goodness he saved the sample.   
_  
_This is pretty incredible,_ I told him as he led me to the south side.   
  
Sirius played modest: _Oh, there are a few things we still have to work on. It's a real annoyance that only two people can use them at once; we still have to correct that, and fifteen minutes isn't all that impressive a space of time…   
_  
The doors looked old-fashioned but completely normal, not even incredibly imposing. But there was no handle.  
  
"I solemnly swear that I am hear for a purpose Q. Carquel shall dislike," Sirius said to the door. I gaped at him in amazement. He shrugged. "It won't admit me if I lie," he explained, "so I tell the truth."  
  
A chime rang with a very low sound. It took moments before Carquel arrived. The door shimmered and looked silvery and transparent for a moment and I saw the form of a short person.  
  
"Who's there?" a short, raspy voice asked sharply.  
  
"Oh, sir," Sirius replied in bright jovialness, "you needn't ask; you know nearly everything. I'm utterly convinced you know our identity already."  
  
"I do not." The voice didn't sound quite as harsh, however.  
  
"We're admirers of yours."  
  
"Go away; I don't accept visitors!"  
  
"But, sir, we're not visitors. I have a genius of a girl by my side. Even Albus Dumbledore agrees on that score."  
  
_He does?_ I asked.  
_In his words, you are a "brilliant young witch". Close enough.  
_  
There was a tempted pause. "How'd you get here?"  
  
"From reliable information; who but those you trust could lead us here, sir?"  
  
The door opened on normal hinges just enough to admit us. I tried not to stare. Carquel was little like how I had imagined him. He was short (although his presence was so strong that he seemed taller), with wild brown hair with solid white streaks through them. (I mean, we're talking inspiration for cartoons here…) His face was flat, ruddy, and otherwise completely nondescript; he wore fine grey working robes, his feet were incredibly small. His hands were broad, flat, and skillful; his muddy-blue coloured eyes looked dull but flickered warily over both of us, although for the moment he didn't give Sirius a second glance.  
  
"The girl?" he asked him, turning his eyes to examine me. I felt like I was a species under a microscope.  
  
"She doesn't resemble any wizards I know," he said sharply. "Except the Granger cheekbones. You're a Granger, aren't you? Cecelia Granger. I examined the autopsy photographs."  
  
I stared for a moment before finding my voice. "Yes. Sir."  
  
_I thought you were Muggle-born; least that's what Remus said,_ Sirius thought through the MS Peppermint.  
  
_I had this aunt…  
_  
"Granger was clever enough, so I've heard," he said disdainfully, although I don't know if the superiority was for Aunt Cecelia's cleverness or the people he had heard it from. I think it's the latter. "What's so special about you?"  
  
_Artifact Wing…_ Sirius reminded me.  
  
_I know. _"I am extremely interested in artifacts. Headmaster Dumbledore reported you have a large study of them and that you'd be more than helpful." Where I found the courage to say that I'll never know.  
  
_Clever touch, Hermione.  
  
Thanks. It's also a lie.  
  
We'll deal with that later.   
_  
Carquel sniffed and turned to Sirius. "Black, Sirius Black. Wouldn't have expected you would have been here. You look different from the posters Dumbledore sent me. How'd you stay sane in Azkaban and later escape?"  
  
_Trelawney would be so proud of me!_ Sirius communicated happily. "That's an interesting story I think will be helpful to you, sir. Wouldn't you want to know why I'm even here, with an underage witch, no less?"  
  
"No. Tell me how you escaped." It was a downright order, and I can't help but think that Carquel had a serious want of manners.   
  
"All in due time, sir. Miss Hermione Granger wants to see the Artifact Wing, and I have a question or two myself to exchange."  
  
"You set me up," Carquel told him coolly.  
  
_No kidding!_ Sirius scoffed. Aloud: "No, it's a barter. You have information we need; we have information you need. We believe it shall be mutually helpful to both parties."  
  
"Did Dumbledore send you?"  
  
"He's advocating this, yes."  
  
There was a silence as Carquel explained this and I mentally asked Sirius why Dumbledore kept being dragged into it. _Because even though he's in serious denial, Dumbledore is the only person he respects at all. Who doesn't? _Sirius answered.  
  
"I'm giving more information than I'm receiving," Carquel concluded.   
  
Sirius was still smiling winningly. "You are giving out more items, I admit, but isn't the lure of cross-examining Sirius Black enough?"  
  
_You have quite the ego, Sirius,_ I told him dryly.  
  
_Well, it works, in times like these.   
_  
Carquel's eyes narrowed and he turned on his heel. "Follow," he ordered sharply. I couldn't help but wonder at him. His robes were thick, but not so thick as my wrappings, and I was shivering.   
  
That place was even bigger on the inside, it seemed. The corridors twisted and turned everywhere, and, I thought, twisted around and back abouts. We walked for a good ten minutes (and I could practically see Carquel calculating how much time he was losing) and I tried to keep him in good humour by asking what he was currently working on.   
  
You know what he said? He was perfecting his cure for _Gigimagnia_. Too bad Madam Pomfrey couldn't have heard that!   
  
And this here is where my hand hurts far too much to continue. So much more has happened… but I really can't write anymore at the moment, especially since Mum wants me to turn off my light. I wanted to get down all the details before I forgot… but that's, in Sirius's words, a "long story" that'll have to wait until tomorrow.   
  


**Well, for you guys, you have to wait about a week, maybe more... in the meantime, if anyone wants to place a vote for which character they want to see featured in "Receiving the Hogwarts Owl"... I've one vote for Remus. Anyone else want to voice their choice? By the way, while this chatper seemed pointless, it also holds a lot of information for all you plot maniacs... *wink, wink, hint, hint* and the next chapter involves alot of foreshadowing for the end of this fic.   
  
And is that dose of Sirius a bit better? You get some more of him in the next chapter, too... -- Rheanna  
  
**


	15. Of the Nowhere Man, New Year, and A Nimb...

**A/N: Thanks to my reviewers: Ayla Pascal **(I've read Ch. 4 of GaS at Schnoogle and am desperately trying to find the time to read and review more!)**, DJ (**"The Nowhere Man"? You should know that -- what did Remus call him all through that year? Yep! I've got to convert you to the Beatles...) **Julia **(girl, busy as usual or just fallen off the face of the earth? :-)** La Chat Qui Garde La Lune **(I think we've talked... *grin*)**, Lavander Ice **(ditto... emails several pages long...)**, Lily Evans, Sorensen **(sorry, I still have to reply, I know!)**, Tess **(I know there's new chapters of "Love On the Quidditch Pitch" I've got to reivew...)** Thanks for the encourgement and criticism. :-)  
  
I also can't promise the next chapter will be up within a week. School is cruel, man. *grin* By the way, it looks like Sirius pretending to be Severus was someting that most of you liked... *wicked grin* Hey, we needed a nice dose of humour to balance the depressing stuff out...  
  
Chapter 15: Of the Nowhere Man, New Year, and A Nimbus**  


  
31 December  
  
When I left off writing, Carquel was showing Sirius and I to the Artifacts Wing. Once we finally got there… it was quite an impressive sight. I felt just as overwhelmed as when I first stepped into Diagon Alley. I wished I could look sixteen places at once. The Wing was nearly as large as Gryffindor Tower - well, perhaps not quite _that _large, but as large as a Hogwarts corridor. The shelves were filled with… _things_. Spirally things and solid things and not-so-solid things and large things and incredibly small and squirmy things surrounded me. One thing that sticks out in my mind is a jar of gold replicas of eyeballs. Whose, I don't want to know.   
  
_See this Eselilnac Eye?_ I asked Sirius through my MS Peppermint… which was wearing out.   
  
_No, but this thing is the size of the Santrax Sea!_ In his panic, Sirius sounded a little snappish.   
  
_How do I eat another MS Peppermint without Carquel getting suspicious?  
_  
Even through telepathy, I could hear Sirius sigh silently._ I wish I had thought of this beforehand… don't unless the Golden Opportunity comes. He'll figure out what they are at a glance. Bet he invented them sixty years before I did. Wish I thought ahead as much as you - _His voice slowly faded, and my peppermint dissolved.   
  
Carquel seemed gruffly pleased at my incredulous expression. I was dumbstruck. "So, Miss Genius, recognize anything?"  
  
Even if I had, between nerves and being overwhelmed I couldn't have placed it. I shook my head mutely before realizing I was playing "genius" and should act it. I pointed at one table in which a cat-shaped talisman stood. "W-What's that?" I asked. "It resembles something from the early Egyptian period…"  
  
Carquel sort of smirked as he walked over to it; I followed. He began a long explanation which I didn't follow. I was fascinated, yes, but nervous. I glanced sideways at Sirius, silently begging to know what to do next. I slipped another peppermint into my mouth desperately.  
  
"What's that?" Carquel demanded sharply.  
  
"A - A peppermint," I replied. "Sorry. I have an allergy."  
  
Carquel's eyes lit up. "To what?"  
  
I was cornered for a moment before Sirius communicated to me: _Say dogs, please. Less of a chance of him guessing. _Obediently, I replied: "Dogs", wondering how Sirius had managed the slight of hand to get the peppermint in his own mouth. I hadn't seen him do it.   
  
Carquel squinted, apparently confused as to why peppermints would help such an affliction. "It's a new development," I continued, "I'm not sure if you've heard of it, here. It… the, erm, essence of the peppermint calms the nerves that get worked up when I'm around dogs."  
  
"Who says I have any here?" he demanded sharply. Uh-oh!  
  
"That's a point I wanted to bring up," Sirius said casually. "There were some interesting claw marks outside, by the northern entrance…"  
  
_What?_ I asked in confusion. Sirius explained that he was lying, but had noticed the path to that entrance trampled and that he was playing on a hunch.  
  
"Were you snooping?" Honestly, Carquel took the standoffish neighbour to a whole new level.   
  
"No, dear sir, I merely glimpsed it and was curious; you're renown for breeding…"   
  
Carquel's eyes narrowed. "Those were marks from a griffin." Obviously, Sirius was right about something on his "hunch".   
  
_Liar,_ Sirius thought disgustedly.  
  
_What if he's telling the truth?_ I asked him._ If he is telling the truth, then the Death Eaters… they're pretty rare, and they'd love to get their hands on one. That could be really important to find out_ - to protect unsuspecting Muggles, I added to myself.  
  
Sirius was silent for a moment while he asked Carquel about griffin habits and diet, apparently enthralled. _You're too clever; I must be getting cynical. _  
  
"Griffins are fascinating; I've studied them forever but have never got a chance to get a firsthand experienced with one," I said earnestly. "Mightn't I see it?"  
  
"That wasn't part of the bargain," Carquel said bluntly.   
  
"_Please_," I begged, making my eyes as big as possible.   
  
"No."  
  
_Git,_ Sirius communicated.   
  
"How'd you remain sane for so many years? Tell me," Carquel turned to Sirius, ordering him sharply. I remembered his expression when I addressed him two years ago in the Shrieking Shack, as though no one had spoken a polite word to him in years. But then, I had a feeling Carquel did that to everyone.  
  
"I was innocent," Sirius said simply. _Hermione, act like a brat. Beg to see that griffin, and I'll cover for you if needed.  
_  
_I don't want him to think_ - I stopped mid sentence, looking at the disagreeable man before me, and decided I was being stupid. "Can I see the griffin?"  
  
"No."   
  
Sirius took this opportunity to check about the room, walking as softly as possible.   
  
"What are you looking for?" Carquel demanded, turning back to him.  
  
_Hermione, remember that map? Run!_  
  
I hesitated for one moment, before he said the magic words: _Are you a Gryffindor or not? This is crucial to the war effort; any lead on the Death Eaters!_ The combination of the thought of being a worthy Gryffindor and that nagging fear of Mum and Dad dying because of this war - it caused me to duck from behind the two men and to pretend to meander through the artifacts while Sirius repeated: "I am innocent." I suspect they are the most important words in his life. At the moment, they were the most important in mine, as well.   
  
I reached the door and slipped out into the corridor. Then I shot like a bullet when out of earshot - although at that moment I heard Carquel saying what sounded like a curse, followed by: "Where is that blasted girl?!" I ran for all it was worth, fumbling with the map as I moved. I managed to rip it pretty well and nearly ran into a wall as I tried to make sense of it.   
  
While figuring out that the wing you would think he'd keep a griffin in didn't seem to even be on the map, a huge bang and explosion of blue smoke appeared right beside me. I managed not to scream - a dead giveaway if I had an angry Carquel on my back - but I was rattled and my heart seemed to go straight up my throat. Choking, I continued to run like a dragon with its head cut off, not even quite sure where I was going, just making sure to check around for a griffin, covering as much ground as I could. I choose the leftmost fork at every place I had to make a decision and must have run ten minutes or so when two things happened at once: I heard a sudden burst of noise, accumulating in a caw-caw-caw sound, and Carquel appeared behind me.  
  
I reached for my pocket and found my wand. In a split second, I had cried the Jelly-Legs jinx. Not much in the way of elegance or showmanship, but highly effective… except that Carquel blocked it. Nevertheless, it gave me enough time to dig in the other pocket. This one, thankfully, held the Portkey. It jerked me and the world swirled around an instant before I blearily found myself in a living room of a Tudor-style house. Even with the sudden distance I had put between myself and Carquel's stronghold, Sirius's voice rang in my head: _Good girl. I'm glad you didn't try to play brave Gryffindor too long._  
  
_I'm not,_ I retorted. Are you all right?  
  
_I'll live; now, no offence, but I need to concentrate! _  
  
"So you must me Miss Granger," said an older female voice. My head suddenly pounding (I had taken a nice blow by banging my head on a railing in flight), I glanced around to see - a ghost of a very pretty woman in about her eighties. "Nice to see you're all right; what about Sirius?"  
  
"Sirius - Sirius is still there - negotiating, I think - er, who are you?" I asked confusedly.   
  
She smiled, beaming brightly. "I'm Kat Mead. Nice to meet you."  
  
Somehow, I felt as though all my history books had cheated me. This couldn't be the dark, cynical, temperamental, and snappish werewolf who killed Darmintry. This was more along the lines of the Fat Friar, Episode Two. "The same here," I managed weakly.  
  
"Good thing you're here," she grinned. She had been leaning across the couch with a book practically upside down and now rightened herself. "Gives Patty and Al upstairs something else to do other than hang out in the bedroom." She winked obviously and I felt my cheeks redden at the implication.   
  
Patty Millry - plumb, dark brown hair, and a kind face, no disappointments from textbooks there - came down almost instantly. "Kat, stop scaring the girl, for heavens' sakes! Give her a chance to catch her breath. Hermione Granger, dear, isn't it?" She knelt down and healed a few bruises I had picked up before straightening. "Ah. You're all right and probably full of a story. Some hot cocoa?"  
  
Somehow, I had the impression that Ms. Millry had been quite a popular teacher.   
  
"Erm, yes, please, if you don't mind."   
  
Ms. Millry did so after quickly using variation of the Floo System to contact Professor Lupin. Then she sat me down and had a steaming cup in front of me in a matter of blinking, but somehow I didn't feel too rushed. That's about all that can be said for Ms. Millry, no deep dark things to get into, no oddities of character, just simply Patty Millry, ready as a Girl Scout and quite as nice as any grandmother you ever met… she reminded me a lot of Mrs. Weasley.   
  
It was mind-boggling to think that Alastor Moody_ hadn't _been the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher last year. Crouch did quite an acting job. The first thing Moody asked Patty was: "Are you sure this is actually Hermione Granger?"   
  
Patty rolled her eyes. "Yes, Al. Any cocoa?"  
  
"No, thanks, Patty. Where's Kat?"  
  
"Alastor, sit."  
  
It was amazing - Moody followed orders and sat obediently, as docile as anything. (He didn't drink the cocoa, but he pretended to fiddle with it before making it disappear into thin air after a while. Ms. Millry raised an eyebrow, rolled her eyes tolerantly, and it wasn't brought up again. It was odd to see such a hero of mine is henpecked… no, henpecked is the wrong word; Moody _can't_ be _henpecked_. But worked with a whip and chair when necessary? Yes.) It was also odd, just sitting down to hot chocolate with some of the best former Aurors in the world. Just there. _Me._ I had been in some pretty elite company that day.   
  
I grew worried, however, when I received no word from Sirius, even after eating another peppermint. I didn't want to send him a thought, in case I distracted him at a crucial moment, but my nerves were jangled as he remained silent and didn't Apparate. After an hour Lupin Apparated, however, and _his_ first words were: "Hermione? Are you quite all right?" and secondly: "Isn't Sirius here yet?" I suppose since I wasn't bleeding to death in front of everyone, he didn't sound terribly concerned as he said the former, but he sounded very worried at the latter. By this time I had exhausted my peppermints and regretted it. "Wait a while, Remus. Sirius thinks he's invincible at times, but isn't too far off the mark," Patty assured him. "Drink some cocoa, I made it on purpose for company."  
  
"Thank you, but -"  
  
Patty cut him off by practically shoving a cup into his hands and staring him down until he submissively finished it off. She had some sort of cocoa fixation here. But the second two o'clock come 'round Lupin insisted on Apparating to Gilonean Wood, although Patty warned him that if he didn't return within half an hour, she and Moody were coming over.  
  
Katrina pouted: "You had better not be leaving me out of this!"   
  
Lupin had no sooner left than Sirius appeared with a small popping noise, looking considerably worse for wear. Patty had her wand out and was administering healing charms before blinking. Even after they healed, I could tell by the marks of recently healed cuts that Sirius had gotten a large thin one nearly all around his forehead and an almost perfectly round bruise right on his left cheekbone, and his left shoulder was bleeding through his robes.  
  
"Carquel can almost best me at dueling," he grinned faintly, "and he's just as stubborn." That's all he would say; even Patty couldn't force him to say another word about what had happened, only what the end result was: "Well, I discovered for a fact that Carquel was attacked by Death Eaters one week ago. I would have tried to confirm more, but I decided that I didn't really want to die just yet."  
  
"It's not all that bad, really," Katrina said brightly.   
  
Sirius looked wryly at her. "But I'm not yet thirty-six, Katrina."  
  
I winced. I was just wondering when Arisuis Black was going to get dragged into this when luckily Patty swiftly changed the subject and within a few minutes Sirius was ready to Apparate me over to where he and Lupin were living at the moment. ("Absolutely not," Patty and Moody decreed, "she's using Floo Powder and that's final!") While, yes, I did end up doing so, the point is that we arrived at a small cabin much more quickly than we would have any Muggle way. It wasn't as in good structural condition as Patty's, but due to the fact that Patty needs assistance to walk, it was a lot nicer inwardly. Stark and threadbare, it was yet a place that an effort to be made comfortable had been tried. Sirius grinned at me. "I suppose after however long at Patty's, you won't need any hot chocolate." I laughed and replied no, but I still felt shaky from the recent events of the day.  
  
Sirius glanced sideways at me and asked casually how I'd been doing in school lately. I tensed; I could tell where this was going already. He was going to ask about my recent behaviour to Harry. "Fine," I shrugged with feigned indifference, "really, really busy."  
  
Sirius stared intently at me for a moment before saying, not unkindly, that I was a lousy liar when Playing Auror wasn't part of the bargain.  
  
"I'm _fine_…" I felt like Dad was cross-examining me again. How exactly was I supposed to tell Sirius that I was trying to protect his godson and friends? How must Sirius have felt to know Harry was all alone at Hogwarts now, and not even being able to be there for him due to cruel circumstance? I blinked furiously, drowning in confusion.  
  
He held up his hands. "Yes, yes, you are completely well and fine and splendid; don't get snappy with me, Miss Granger. However," he added gently, "if you ever need to talk to anyone…"  
  
I don't know where this came from, but suddenly I burst into tears. Perhaps "burst" is too explosive; but they just sort of whelmed up and I put my head down on the dining room table. I didn't even understand why. And then Sirius came over, looking highly hesitative, and said something indistinct, hand hovering over my shoulder uncertainly, and I turned around and just buried myself in his chest. I desperately needed someone for support at that moment. Hesitantly he patted my hair, looking completely bemused. "I'm… I'm sorry," I managed at last. "I'm just… scared… the… Carquel's…" Well, I certainly didn't seem like the genius he had made me out to be. Right now I was a complete crybaby for no reason, and my face still burns remembering it.   
  
"'S'okay," he said quietly as I dried my eyes, still looking lost and glancing at me like I might explode.  
  
It was shortly after that Lupin Apparated, white-faced, and thankfully saw Sirius (and pretty much into one piece, into the bargain). Mum always says that it's a knee-jerk reaction when your fears are relived after being worried: You'll immediately get snappish. That's what happened here: Lupin said faintly "You're here", and within an instant was thoroughly telling Sirius off.   
  
Sirius smiled offhandedly through the duration of the short lecture, obviously not paying it an iota of mind, and after a moment when Lupin had sufficiently calmed down, asked brightly: "Want to know what happened?" He related it carefully, up to the point where I had left. I then asked about the sudden burst of odd noises right before Carquel had nearly captured me. I was asked to try and relate as closely as possible where I had run, after which Lupin tried to reenact it in his mind through a process of shutting his eyes to pretend he was walking ("Running madly," I murmured) down the same corridors, scribbling quickly on a scrap piece of parchment, and repeating until he showed me a new sketchy map and asked if that looked half-right. I examined it, feeling worried before both assured me that they truthfully weren't expecting me to have memorized my route, and said it looked about right. Lupin then grinned: "Oh, you were awfully near the Animal Wing, then."  
  
"Right near the supposed griffin," Sirius added. "Wish I could have confirmed that much. I do think he's lying, though."  
  
I wish we could have, too. But for right now, since I_ am_ home safe and sound, I've got to put this down a while and join Mum and Dad and Amanda and Thomas. We're doing the countdown for 1996. I just pray it isn't half so confusing as the last few years! Happy New Year.  
  
  
1 January, 1996  
  
I'd really rather not go back to school tomorrow and take up my post of Public Enemy Number One, which is an expression Amanda uses a lot. On the other hand, as I'm sure our dear Society for Purity would point out, I have a choice. But between losing all self-respect and putting up with all their shenanigans… I'll take the latter. I refuse to live with the knowledge that some smirking, self-satisfied, rich prig has driven me out of the one world that has accepted my oddities and me. I don't suppose Wydown School is accepting me again anytime soon, thanks to the fire incident. Personally, I think the only reason Mum let me attend Hogwarts is because she secretly thought they would cure me of my "abnormality", not encourage it. But that's another musing.   
  
Thomas is definitely disgruntled about me going back to school - "We could have got quite far on the guitar!" - but Mum is secretly worried about the Roberts, because Thomas lost his mother recently. She says they'll be better off when they leave and have time to grieve properly, and that the guitar lessons were merely a chance for Thomas to devote his mind to something other than his loss.   
  
  
2 January  
  
How annoying! My dire prediction came true, so I suppose Trelawney's happy, but it's disgusting to my eyes. Apparently Harry and Sara survived the holiday and are now on friendly terms. Sara chatted with Ron today when he came back and finished last-minute homework with the boys for a time. While she hasn't been with them constantly, it makes my blood boil. Here I am trying to protect my best friends, and they turn around and replace me with someone they _know_ I don't like. I seriously wish I could throw something, but luckily Crookshanks has convinced me to do something more constructive, like reviewing my Potions notes. What would I do if it wasn't for Crookshanks? Through it all, _he's_ always there for me. Right now he's curled up on my feet, preventing me from doing any stupid thing to vent steam that comes into my not-so-rational-at-the-moment mind. My darling Crookshanks.   
  
And then there's the broomstick. Sara greeted all of us in the Gryffindor fifth year with Christmas presents. Well, granted, they were wonderfully charmed ornamental roses that'll never wilt or die, which are lovely for the more romantic Friday Night Flings. (I'll never wear mine.) Of course, I couldn't help feeling a _little_ guilty, because after all that no one gave Sara a present, and she goes around playing saint and not even mentioning it while Lavender and Parvati and I are trying desperately to say something that's not grossly awkward, and Malfoy came over to taunt her about it - and then the owl drops from the sky and delivers a Nimbus Two Thousand! It was really weird, really, and I felt a strange sense of haven't-I-seen-this-before as she examined the white box and couldn't find a name or card. It was secondhand, with a large scratch on the handle, but in excellent flying condition.   
  
She had to hand it over to the teachers to make sure it wasn't cursed or whatnot, and then, funnily enough, Dumbledore caught her on the way out of the Hall, saying that he had been assured it wasn't cursed by the sender. "Who?" Sara asked eagerly, in unison with a good portion of Gryffindor, but Dumbledore merely smiled and shook his head, saying she'd find out son. Well! Just who could_ that_ have been? I suppose the Gryffindor Team pitched in so that Snape couldn't kick her off the team like he threatened before holiday, but still, it was odd. Perhaps they didn't want her to think she was accepting charity…  
  
I couldn't find out what Ron and the Weasleys did over the holiday, which is quite as annoying as the Sara deal._ What were they **doing**?_ I wish I could just ask him outright! But Ron is going around putting his snubbed-sort of nose (I never noticed it was that snubbed before) in the air whenever I approach, and Parvati and Lavender don't know either. So hopefully if this blows over I'll find it. "If" - I hate that word. I definitely prefer "when". I'm also most certainly watching my back, it would only be too predictable for comfort if the Society for Purity is enraged that I came back to contaminate their precious school.   
  
  
4 January   
  
Well, they most certainly did something. They ripped all of my holiday assignments - _and they were in my dormitory! _How are they getting into Gryffindor Tower? I'm going to look into that as soon as I finish writing; surely there's a case of House rivalry in _Hogwarts: A History_. It's all ripped to pieces, and yesterday I didn't discover it until Transfiguration started. I'm apparently the only Muggle-born this happened to. (Why are they only targeting me on this? I expect it has something to do with my marks… and there's a certain satisfaction in knowing they're jealous.) Since it was all ripped and my reputation is clean, the teachers bought the excuse that it was a practical joke on someone's part. I had to re-do it all, but at least I wasn't in trouble. I felt like crying, however. I didn't, remembering that Sirius had been a little… scared by it. I'm serious (no pun intended) about that, I overheard him and Remus talking a little after we confirmed that I had been near the Animal Wing. They suggested I call my parents and say I would be home after dinner, and I did so (yes, they have a telephone, Lupin has apparently been pretending he's a Muggle in that village as of late). When I returned, I heard the following conversation:   
  
"No, Moony, I mean it. I tried to ask about it tactfully, but all the sudden she just started crying on me. All I said was that if she needed to talk, I was there."  
  
"Hmm." Remus sounded grim. "Obviously she does need to talk about something, then." (Hmm… that obvious, eh?)  
  
"I just wished I could have comforted her," Sirius continued, sounding annoyed with himself. "I simply had no clue what to do. And then, I always had the impression that Hermione was far too sensible… I dunno." (Splendid… now I felt guilty for putting him in that position.)  
  
"You did fine, Padfoot, and there's little you could have done beside not make her feel ashamed of it. Hermione's fifteen, and going through a range of emotions. Furthermore, she's in the midst of a dangerous war effort. I'd be surprised if she was functioning with complete normality." (I'm grateful to hear that.)  
  
"All fifteen-year-olds?" Sirius asked with slight amusement. "I thought that was limited to Julia McGuffin." He spoke the name with slight scorn.  
  
"Sirius." Remus sounded stern. "Julia had been a captive of a Darmintric Order. She had been tortured. That's a traumatic experience."   
  
"And I'm sure it _wasn't_ traumatic for _you_ at all. It was a nice happy holiday, right?"  
  
"That's different."  
  
"Why's it different for you? You were three years younger,_ and_ you returned to school without everyone thinking you had some mental illness." (When exactly did this happen?)  
  
"I was also playing the part of a stupidly stubborn Gryffindor. Julia was cleverer in that way. She pretended to have broken down, and the Darmintrics let their guard down with her, thinking she was too weak. It was a good strategy. By the time they thought I was too weak I really was, so it didn't do any good then."  
  
"It's so nice of you to pretend that's what she did, but we both know she just blanked out."  
  
"Still, it's probably a good idea if ever needed."  
  
"Perhaps a warning for Hermione the next time she's cornered by Carquel?"  
  
"She's outside the door right now, having heard everything we've said since you brought up her bout of emotion anyway, so perhaps she'll keep it in mind."  
  
"Oh." I sheepishly entered, but neither seemed annoyed. "Sorry Sirius, Professor Lupin."  
  
"I haven't been your teacher for a while now, Hermione, and I doubt I will be again. I wish you'd call me Remus," Remus said, "and that's more our fault than yours. Sit down."  
  
I wondered if they were going to change tacks and start cross-examining me on my appalling behaviour to their friend's son as of late. I was half-right, since Remus asked me the same question Sirius had, if there was anything wrong that I needed to talk about. I shook my head and said I didn't need to talk about it right then.   
  
"Fine," Remus said nonchalantly, "any bruises collected at Carquel's? Sirius said you played quite the heroine, but those trick floors can be annoying." Luckily, I hadn't run into any of those. "Good. Now we're going to have a snowball fight."  
  
I stared at Remus, who was completely straight-faced, and Sirius, who was grinning with appreciation at the idea. "Excuse me?"  
  
"A snowball fight. There's time before dinner and a lovely snowfall out there that we ought to be enjoying instead of wring our brains over Carquel."  
  
"I - I haven't got a change of clothes."  
  
"Well, what's the point of being with two wizards over holiday if not for Drying Spells?" Sirius asked cheerfully. "Come on, you heard Professor Moony, and I personally like that idea."  
  
Well, I have to admit I had fun. Generally I ganged up with one of them on the other (as I think they could have reduced me to snow powder had they felt so inclined, even if Sirius had to go as Padfoot). I was soon wet and cold but laughing and enjoying myself more than I had for two weeks. Even after Remus, with a wistful glance around, said that he was going to have to go inside (which I think was a simple precaution due to scientifically-like effects of werewolf transformations and symptoms so close to the full moon I was having far too much fun to muse over) we produced a sled. Sirius had fun with that, especially when I wasn't able to drag it up one of the steeper hills near the cabin. He would give me an amused, superior dog-glance and grab the rope in his mouth. I'd have to tear after him furiously up the hill, and so the trips up were almost as much fun as going down.  
  
The oddest thing of all was that after that, while I felt a little tired, I felt better emotionally and physically than I had for a long time, and I didn't feel overly exhausted at all.   
  
(And, of course, Dad teasingly asked about the lovely colour in my cheeks when I returned home. He's awfully interested in "Snape". Thomas was a little put out merely because Amanda was definitely looking at Sirius with appreciation.)   
  



	16. Harrassment

**A/N: One word: Sorry. For how long this took, that is. Deepest apologies. I haven't had a lot of time and I've been quite sick into the bargain (woke up this very morning and could barely force myself out of bed). What little time I had on the Internet has been spent frantically trying to finish this, wrestle with "Serendipity", message boards, and immersed in Ayla Pascal's "Salazar's Betrayal". You could do far worse than go to schnoogle.com and read her fics. As a matter of fact, all of my reviewers so far who are writers have very interesting stories, all of which I recommend.   
  
Again, thanks to my wonderful reviewers: Ayla Pascal, Emily K. Lupin **(dear, I need _your _email, not Jessie's, but your reviews were quite a treat! Thanks for the Candy catch)**, Julia, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Sorensen, and teethshaver **(whose name I love *grin*)**. **  


  


**Chapter 16: Harrassment**  


7 January   
  
The Society for Purity left another present today, one that they seemed to intend for my roommates to enjoy as well. Parvati, Lavender, and Sara weren't all that amused to find that our dormitory was booby-trapped within an inch of its life. Yesterday the dormitory was "pranksterized", in Sara's oh-so-orthodox language. Lavender and I, exhausted from a long day spent trying to master Transfigurating objects of very different sizes (Parvati was with Trelawney… for once, that was a wise choice) when we nearly collapsed into the room, good-natured, spirited Lavender cursing McGonagall with every insult she could find.   
  
An enchanted pie flew straight at us, hitting us squarely on the shoulders even when we tried to duck. ("Blueberry," Lavender noted in wry appreciation after the scare was over.) Next came a barrage of downy little duck feathers floating down from the ceiling. Lavender, immediately covering her hair (she had it cut very nicely over the holidays, the dirty blonde colour setting off her blue eyes very nicely in layers, but I can't say she isn't vain about it) shut her eyes out of instinct as well.   
  
I wasn't able to warn her quick enough when a Jarvey burst from nowhere, hitting her on the face. "Toothpick!" he screeched happily. Oh, dear.  
  
I knocked it over the head with my wand and it turned to me. "What'd you comb that hair with, beaver-head?" (Excuse me!) "What rock was that?" He bounced around, tearing up the bedclothes.   
  
"No, quit it!" I snapped, and tried to perform a Freezing Charm. It shot out of my aim and I ended up freezing the windowpane, which was luckily bewitched, otherwise it might have cracked.   
  
"Say, are you lot having a fight? If so, you have to redo it so I can watch!" Sara burst in brightly (oh, just the thing to make my day). Her eyes widened. "Oh. Dear. Wasn't expecting that."  
  
"Well, pull out your wand and _help_ me, Miss Prefect!" I snapped irritably, since the Jarvey was tugging at my hair.   
  
Sara tried a Stunning Spell, which halted it for just a moment. "Better luck next time, little girl!" the Jarvey cackled at her.   
  
"Jarveys… Jarveys…" Sara murmured distractedly.  
  
"Very good, you figured out what it was!" Lavender snapped as the Jarvey started throwing pillows at us.   
  
I ducked and ran with the others to the great bedstand along the wall, with the thought in mind to try and shut the Jarvey in a drawer until we could get help. The second my fingers touched the wood, however, the bowls of water flew at us, soaking us all.   
  
"Is this someone's idea of a _joke_?" Lavender demanded furiously. I didn't find it funny, either.   
  
"Jarveys - Jarveys are similar to - to - to - ferrets!" I suddenly remembered, wondering how it could have taken so long for me to remember. (Oddly enough, this Jarvey _looked_ like Malfoy, too!)   
  
"Thank you, Miss Know-It-All, can you tell us how to use a Blinding Hex?" Sara snapped, wiping wet bangs off her forehead and eyes in annoyance.   
  
"Oh, right - a Blinding Hex'll work!" I realised, feeling foolish. "_Octurlarotis_!"  
  
The Jarvey blinked frantically, making weird squeaking noises of pain until it fainted cold.  
  
"You three," spoke up an amused voice behind us, "will never make it as Aurors." It was George Weasley, who looked slightly alarmed - probably from us screaming, but had apparently assured himself that it was nothing.   
  
"This is a girls' dormitory," I snapped coldly, surprising myself. Without even thinking, I had spoken sharply. Being nasty has turned into a real habit! But that's _terrible_. I wonder if that's how Snape… hmm.   
  
"The door was open," George smirked, putting a hand on Parvati's shoulder, "and poor Parvati, waiting here, needed someone for moral support."  
  
Parvati rolled her eyes and flipped back her long dark hair. "Thanks ever so much, Fred." George didn't look in the least surprised that she had called him by the wrong name. Parvati continued, looking worried: "What was all _that_?"  
  
"Well, if we had known, we certainly wouldn't be in this mess," Sara smiled wryly.   
  
"Thank you for being so informative," I said.  
  
"Thank you for being so quick-witted during a crisis," she retorted.  
  
"Are you saying that of _me_? I didn't see _you_ performing a Blinding Hex!"  
  
"I didn't see _you_ remembering what would stop an overgrown ferret!"  
  
"It's a Jarvey, not an 'overgrown ferret'!" But Lavender, trying to break up an argument as George warily left, picked up a note that had been nailed to the wall and nearly proved me wrong on the overgrown ferret score.   
  
She squinted at it, as the notes all have very decidedly fancy and miniscule script. "M - M - Mudblood," she read hesitantly, partly because of difficultly reading and, I believe, partly from hesitation saying the word - I am one, after all, and it's a rather taboo word in families like the Browns. "Y - You -"  
  
I cut in: "Stop, give me that." Before she could protest I crossed the dormitory faster than I had in my life without running and snatched the note from her hands. Lavender gasped in surprise. I pretended to scan it. It read as usual - Mudblood, you got what was coming to you, and on and on and the like. "That's the stupid Slytherins, I bet." (It wasn't a lie!) "Yes, that's exactly what it is."  
  
"Read it," Parvati entreated eagerly.   
  
I don't know how I pulled off what I next did: I make up the "note" as I went along. "Hmm, well, it's really untidy - isn't it, Lavender? Let's see - 'Mudblood, you charity girl, Indian scum, and - and colour brat -" (I couldn't think of anything else for Lavender) " - Have a happy new year, and do tidy up a bit in here. Good day to you!' Yes, that's Slytherin through and through," I finished, not having to feign disgust in the slightest. Talk about overgrown ferrets - if Draco Malfoy had appeared in front of me right then, I would have used Blinding Hexes on him until he begged for mercy, I'm not fooling.   
  
The girls were outraged and I quickly saw that I would have to continue: "Wait a moment - 'Do not under any circumstances tell about this to anyone if you wish to see the next holiday in one piece.' Signed, 'the Jarvey Association'."   
  
Parvati did not like that idea at all and insisted adamantly that we should go straight to McGonagall, but I was just as adamant and insisted that we couldn't prove a thing about who did it and the attention would only help the vandals to get a higher opinion of themselves. Lavender agreed with me and Sara looked shrewd but didn't seem to mind letting us battle it out. After listening to my logic a little while longer, Parvati agreed to just clean up the dormitory and keep our head downs as to let it blow over.   
  
It was more difficult than that, however. The floor of our washroom had an Ice Enchantment placed upon it - Lavender found that out the difficult way, with a sore neck and scraped knees. Sara was attacked by imps when she cleared out beneath her bed. Parvati found her books had been spelled to keep snapping at her - much like the _Monster Book of Monsters_. My best set of school robes had been slashed.   
  
"You've got to give them credit; they do pranksterise well," Sara shrugged calmly. Whereupon Parvati pretended to be furious with her - although she was really quite incredulous at her attitude - and the three girls started a major pillow fight. I overheard Lavender whisper to Parvati when I left for the library - "I thought Hermione might join in."  
  
"She's been acting mean to us lately," Parvati shrugged, shooting a pillow at Sara. "And our model student can't be throwing school property about, can she?"  
  
"Yeah, but she was acting almost like Hermione again when we first came in. I was hoping she'd stay."   
  
"No great loss; she's turned into a little dragon lately."   
  
It's too much; I had to remind myself why I had turned into a little dragon in the first place. I suppose I shouldn't complain; I finished two days of homework in advance and begged another O.W.L. practice sheet from Flitwick.   
  
  
10 January  
  
  
It's one of those cruel twists in life that must dictate how this works - when I have very little time to write in my diary, I have loads to say. However, in times like this, when I would die (after all, Katrina Mead apparently doesn't think it too bad, unlike another irritating ghost we all know) for something interesting to write… _nothing_ happens. I found that I can't keep this diary without companionship. How annoying.   
  
Not that the dear, considerate Society for Purity isn't trying to help me with that. Since the event of pranksterising (why can't I get that word out of my head?) our dormitory, I've found myself tripping over absolutely nothing at all in the halls. My essays were badly smudged last Tuesday and now I'm keeping strong locking charms on everything, which the Society breaks into anyway. (Well, I'm not giving myself enough credit there. They only managed to get into and scribble all over some of them.)   
  
But when Harry and the Weasleys aren't around to fill this diary with their antics - oh, wait, no, that's not quite correct, I have something Ron did just yesterday in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Drothl had been attempting to teach us what to do for someone who had been under a Heat Climatic Curse for an extended length of time and had given us several written questions to answer. They were all quite specific, and I got one wrong for failing to mention from the textbook's footnote that butterbeer should not, under any circumstances, be used in moderate cases on the victim within two hours on the attack. Alcohol is simply not good for the body's system at that point, even though many witches and wizards attempt to use butterbeer to help prevent dehydration.  
  
Well, Ron got more than half of his wrong. He pays no attention to detail whatsoever - no, actually, he has an excellent memory for detail, he just hates writing it down. Anyway one of the questions read thus: "What should you do for the victim immediately after getting him or her into an area that is room temperature or preferably less?"   
  
The textbook read thus:  
  
3) Get victim into an area that is at least room temperature, preferably less (ideally shaded) and have him or her lie down in a comfortable position.  
  
4) Loosen or remove victim's clothing.  
  
Well, Ron had written (as had I, although I worded it in a more in-depth manner) as an answer: "Have victim lie down."   
  
Drothl responded immovably that the answer was to loosen or remove victim's clothing.   
  
I had been trying to keep my head down and really didn't feel like arguing. It just seemed pointless to me. Most things do lately, and Drothl doesn't motivate me to apply myself to learn anything in Defence at the moment in any case. Ron, however, kept badgering her, and Drothl insisted that Ron's answer was incorrect.   
  
(That is one of the things that makes me feel very combative and irritable around Drothl, and Snape has a similar effect - they don't even consider another answer, or even go over it and explain specifically why it is wrong - and our answer was not wrong, but that's beside the point. I caught myself thinking wistfully that Remus had always taken the time to at least think about alternatives. As would the real - and fake, but based on what I know -Alastor Moody. But this is also not really the point of the story.)  
  
"But, Professor, it didn't ask for the next step, it asked for what to do. So the victim according to the question has just been taken into a cooler area. It didn't say -" Ron was cut off yet again while he tried to sound as studious but adamant as possible.  
  
"Weasley, we are assuming that the victim is lying down, now do shut up and let's move on!" Drothl snapped. "Question five -"  
  
"Well," Ron interrupted recklessly, "if that's the case, let's just _assume_ the victim is Celestina Warbeck and she's already undressed, shall we?"  
  
No Gryffindor bothered to hide their guffaws, which soon led into full blown screaming laughter. Dean was nearly crying, I swear he was - he had his head down on his desk and was shaking. Half of us turned red but didn't care. I tried to keep a straight face but couldn't manage.  
  
And would you believe? Drothl looks bemused and asks who Celestina Warbeck is!   
  
Well, that set us off even worse, and Drothl yelled at us for a good solid five minutes before the class showed any inclination to calm and quiet ourselves. Finally she had shouted enough that most of us were sedately quiet and facing the front of the classroom before someone (mostly Ron and Seamus) would hiss: "Celeste Warbeck…" or Sara would get another burst of appreciative giggles, setting everyone off again. As usual, we didn't get a whole lot out of the class, and while I really wanted to tell Ron off like I always used to after a remark such as that, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. I longed to join him and Harry as they left the classroom, still chuckling. I miss them so much.   
  
But soon afterward, during dinner, I discovered that something in my food had made me suspiciously drowsy, and I still feel light-headed… hmm. Now, I wonder who's behind _that_. I had an irritating headache all day, however, and it is really quite annoying. I might go to the hospital wing and see if Madam Pomfrey has anything.   
  
29 January  
  
  
Well, I suppose I should stop complaining that I have nothing to write in my diary, because for the past two and a half weeks it has "gone missing". At least, that's the excuse the Society for Purity coolly stated in its most recent note.  
  
It must have happened the night I went to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey made me stay overnight to allow her potion to take effect on my headache. She also mentioned that I'm far too stressed out.  
  
Me? Stressed? Never.  
  
In any case, it was a day or two afterwards that I hunted up my diary, having little better to do. You know what's odd? I can't seem to concentrate on my studies without background noise, such as Ron and Harry playfully bickering, or Ginny and her friends chatting about something, or silently scoffing as Parvati and Lavender try to master their "craft" of fortune-telling. I keep trying to avoid people, and without people to tune out, I lose direction. That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Therefore, it can't be true, I assume… but it sure appears so. I must be going slightly mad.   
  
Where was - oh, right. This diary. I was not able to find it, but in the place I usually keep it I soon discovered a note from the Society of Purity. Oh, look how charming and intelligent this one was!  
  
_Mudblood -  
  
Finders keepers; losers weepers.   
  
-- The Society for Purity _  
  
My goodness, how clever! It must have taken them countless sleepless nights to come up with _that _sparkling gem of wit!   
  
Coming off that burst of sarcasm, _I_ spent countless sleepless nights worrying about if they'd manage to read it. How humiliating! I can't stand the thought! And if they knew all about my writing, and Sirius, and those stupid crushes I had at various points, and the day I was expelled from Wydown, and all those personal things Ron and Harry have confided to me, and - and all the sorts of things only a diary should know!  
  
It's easier to say, now that it's right here in my lap, that it's doubtful they got past my personalised charms and my password… but you never know. And I do hope they didn't find out about Sirius - although luckily… they have family chock full of Death Eaters. _They_ probably know he's innocent - why, they probably have been laughing up their sleeves that Sirius is taking all the blame for their relatives' actions. I never thought of that before… and it's quite infuriating, to tell the truth.   
  
But oh, they managed to make my life miserable lately… they've dubbed my voice in several places, slandering students and staff. They framed me for a prank played in the kitchens, and it's getting harder for the teachers to believe that I really didn't do it. I suppose, looking at it through their point of view, you can't quite blame them. All the evidence did point to me, but I don't want to write out all the gory details of that. Suffice to say I got off with a stern warning. Then they sent me a Howler, making it look like my mother sent it.  
  
I truly pity anyone who gets a Howler now. That experience was terrible. And I thought it really was Mum! I have rarely been so ashamed of myself in my life. My face just burned and I felt as if everyone in the world (and, indeed, everyone in the school was) staring at me. I just wanted to hide.   
  
Somehow they've been managing to get into Gryffindor Tower. My bed has been filled with Itching Powder quite regularly. Two nights I just slept in the common room - well, to be precise, I laid awake in the common room. Even without the Itching Powder I can't sleep much, and I'm beginning to feel like I was in my third year, like I'm walking around in an underwater dream world, doing everything mechanically and struggling to stay alert. _Is it worth it? _  
  
Surprisingly, it's when I attend CC meetings that I feel it is. The CC gives me a wonderful feeling of _doing_ something, of fighting and being constructive. I can't imagine where I'd get the same feeling in the Muggle world. It's even a feeling of control and power that I enjoy, although I try not to enjoy it too much - that just feels Slytherinish. And it's also when I see Malfoy's smirk. That self-satisfied oh-life-and-me-is-all-splendid smirk… oh, how I detest it.  
  
But how can he be _really_ happy, being yet another Malfoy? How can someone's mind be twisted _that_ much? I'd blame it all upon Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy - not that I liked them ever anyway - but then… how did his parents get like that as well? It's like some sort of genetic disease… but it's not genetic. I've decided that it must be the environment people like the Malfoys are raised. They know no other way, the same I was never raised in an environment where ignoring the needs of others makes you feel better.   
  
But I got the diary back. I'm not quite sure how. I found it slipped into my schoolbag with this note:  
_  
Be more careful! _  
  
Now that's interesting… it isn't signed as the Society for Purity, nor does it look the same as the Society's notes. But then who? There's a traitor somewhere, but why go to the bother of sending this back to me? The Dark Side simply does not make sense, and there's little more to it. I do hope this diary isn't hexed in any way. I tested it, but I'm sure they are more advanced than I am. Something I'm determined to fix within the foreseeable future. It all comes down to the basic fact that knowledge is power.   
  
How I would love to be able to argue with Ron on that point about now… I had better go do something constructive instead of moping. G'night.  
  
1 February  
  
  
The Society for Purity (it's sad and probably quite unacceptable how much ink I'm wasting over those pieces of filth, really) has taken yet another turn on their campaign. It's getting serious now. They cornered me this morning in an empty classroom… Malfoy, Goyle, Machete Baddock, Lydon Peterson (Peterson - revoltingly fitting), Rodgers, Lias, and another one whom I cannot name but was a year above Malfoy. Baddock is Head Boy. Rodgers and Lias are sixth-year prefects; Peterson is in sixth year. In short, they were all my age or older, and in positions of authority.   
  
Goyle and the Unnamed grabbed me by the upper arm in the corridor. Unnamed put a hand around my throat for just a moment to make a noise indicating that I be silent.  
  
Well, I reflected as they led me into that empty classroom, this is the end. I was going to be killed in a school environment. I hoped that Ron and Harry and Ginny would understand and forgive me. What was Mum and Dad going to say? They'd be devastated.   
  
They locked the door ominously and turned to me. "Hand over the wand," Baddock ordered harshly.   
  
I couldn't decide whether or not to obey. They all had their wands pointed at me, and there wasn't much of a chance for me to out-duel them, but if I did give it to them, I'd have no chance at all, right?   
  
"I said _hand over the wand_, _Mudblood_," Baddock repeated in low, dangerous tones.   
  
I felt myself begin to tremble and tried to hide it. "What for?" I asked, trying to inject some solidness into my voice.   
  
They didn't answer with words, but instead several Climatic Curses were sent at me. I fell to the ground as extreme hotness and coldness seemed to run through my veins. I tried to grip my wand more tightly, but I couldn't force my fingers around it and it rolled from my hand.   
  
"_Accio_," Baddock said. The wand shot to his hand and I felt a rush of anger. That was _my_ wand! "Get up, Mudblood."  
  
I hate that word. I totally and completely despise the word "Mudblood". I _hate_ it!  
  
My head felt very heavy and I was dizzy from the Curses, which had only been applied for a second, but more than long enough. I propped myself up using my wrists and managed to life my head. Shakily I stood and heard soft snickers as I gripped a desk for support. My face began to burn a hot pink; I could feel it.  
  
I girded myself and stood more firmly, facing Baddock defiantly.   
  
He stared back coldly, with harsh brown eyes. "Now what did we tell you in our very nice notes?"  
  
"That you have very little imagination," I retorted. "As in 'finders keepers, losers weepers'."   
  
A flash of hexes shot at me and I ducked to avoid them, although a Blinding Curse hit me. My eyes burned and I couldn't see well, but it was a weak one and I knew it would wear off shortly.   
  
Baddock's tones were cool and measured. "Don't think we're not serious, Mudblood. We're Slytherins, remember? We get what we want at any cost?"  
  
I opted to stay silent. I didn't think he should be dignified with a response.   
  
"What's been taking you so long, Mudblood?"  
  
I bit my tongue.  
  
"The cleverest student in the school can't pack a suitcase?"   
  
No point in replying, none at all.  
  
"Where'd your sharp tongue go?… Are you not going to talk?" He waited, but I didn't give him the satisfaction. "Very well, then."  
  
Still not able to see well, I had to trust my other senses. Someone - probably several someones - grabbed me roughly from behind by the shoulders and slammed me against the wall. My headache increased in size as I bit my tongue hard.   
  
"Rodgers? The Cruciatus Curse?"   
  
I tensed instantly, and the Slytherins laughed at my fear. I dimly made out Rodgers's shape step forward, and I'm sure he was smirking. "_Crucio_."   
  
I gritted my teeth, wondering just how much this hurt in all actuality. Then I felt something against my chest grow warm, and I realised - _Snape's charm_.   
  
The spell hit me, and I'm not going to pretend it didn't hurt. It did. I felt small hot aches shoot all through my body and even let out a small cry of pain. But they faded very quickly, and it was only a second before I didn't feel a thing at all.  
  
"Rodgers!" Baddock snapped. "What's that? Get some backbone on that, will you?"  
  
"I - I'm sorry - I don't kn-"  
  
"Try it again!"  
  
This time it hurt even less, but I pretended to scream loudly. For one, it might attract attention, and two to make them think it had worked.   
  
Baddock growled unhappily. "I sure hope your Silencing Charms work better than that! Get back, now!" he snapped.   
  
"Machete," Malfoy spoke up eagerly, as if reminding him of something.  
  
The Blinding Curse was fast wearing off, and I saw Baddock nod irritably. "Yeah, Malfoy, I know. I promised. Go ahead."  
  
Malfoy smirked with pleasure as he pulled out his wand. I faced him steadily, determined not to show any fear. He twirled it lazily a moment, glancing at me superiorly - gloating. I scowled.  
  
"Get on with it, scared?" I asked.  
  
"Just savouring my payback, Granger…" He yawned obviously and I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Then he pointed it at me directly and murmured something, sounding as though he was cooing.   
  
A series of hot sparks shot out and hit me in the face, burning me - but I barely felt them before the charm warmed again and caused the sparks to cool and evaporate.  
  
"Hey!" This was definitely not what Malfoy had wanted to see. "What's this?"  
  
He tried another spell, which I recognised as the one to make ears enlarge to embarrassingly large sizes. It had no effect.  
  
"What's going on?" Lias asked, sounding seriously put out.   
  
"I don't know!" Malfoy cried. "The curses just aren't working!"  
  
"Well," Baddock scowled, "if you can't make it work, a -"  
  
"No, wait!" Malfoy begged. "Come on, I can do something - Goyle, come on now," he ordered.  
  
Goyle stepped forward and began to use old-fashioned fist torture, which the charm didn't seem to protect me against in the least. He punched me again and again, and it didn't feel as if it would ever end. Tears ended up flowing freely on my part - which did not help my pride. I felt humiliated. The tears mingled with the blood on my face, making a happy mess.   
  
Finally he grabbed me and threw me to the floor to much applause on the Slytherins' part. I struggled to get up and he kicked me down again. By this time I felt too weak to do much of anything.   
  
"Consider this, Mudblood," Baddock sneered. "Take it as a warning." Goyle reached for me again, but he added: "Leave her. Granger, you say a word of this to anyone, and we'll toss you into the lake in the dead of night. At least." They filed out, removing the Silencing Charms and locks on the door.   
  
I forced myself to get up quickly before I missed the next class and realised I was in no fit condition to see anyone. I glanced at a mirror behind the classroom's door and saw a girl with a sweat-and-blood caked face, two black eyes, a bloody lip, and a heavy bruise on my shoulders and wrists. My hair could've used a washing or a least a brushing, too. There were small rips around the neck of my robes from where Goyle had been grasping at me. And this was a "warning".   
  
I cleaned myself up as best I could, but I didn't have my wand and there would be too many explanations to make on my bruises. At length I skulked down to the hospital wing and fed Madam Pomfrey a story about falling off of a trick staircase. I'm not sure if she believed me, but she cleaned me up and wrote a note for Professor Flitwick, as I was late for Charms.   
  
This still left two problems: for one, when you have cuts healed, your skin has an obvious look to it for a while. It takes an especial long time for large cuts, but even with my small ones, it had been so recent that nearly everyone noticed and asked about them, and it seemed no one believed my staircase story. And my bruises, while reduced, still showed. Ron and Harry didn't ask me about them at all, but they kept glancing at me and I saw them making up their own theories.  
  
The real problem, however, was the fact that my wand was lost. I couldn't explain this away, so I told Flitwick in private that I had lost it. He tried to Summon it, but apparently the Slytherins had it under a lock. Finally he told me to do some paperwork for him this class, and when I found it again I could visit him and we'd make the lesson up. Still, it was annoying - it's hard to be a student in a magical school without a wand! I also had Transfiguration that day, which requires it, and McGonagall looked highly disapproving at the words "lost" and "wand" put together.   
  
That evening, however, during dinner, Dumbledore made an announcement, asking if anyone had found Miss Granger's wand. Well, Candy Designer nearly jumps out of her seat, waving her hand, in which my wand was clutched.   
  
"I have it, I have it right here, sir! I found it in Moaning Myrtle's loo!"   
  
There was a great rumble of laughter from the whole Hall at these words, and no small amount of snickering. My face reddened furiously, and I hope I responded politely when Candy, beaming, handed it to me.   
  
This appears to be a good start to the month.  
  
  
5 February  
  
  
There's going to be a Friday Night Fling on Valentine's Day. Dumbledore announced it this morning to great applause, but I'm already wondering if I can hide that night. As if anyone really wants me there.   
  
  
7 February  
  
  
The Society for Purity surrounded me in a deserted corridor today and repeated their performance. This time I kept a tight hold on my wand, but that didn't stop any of them from punching and kicking me again.   
  
I considered going to the hospital wing, but I didn't know what to tell Madam Pomfrey this time. Finally I just decided to try and copy her charms and did a fairly decent job healing.   
  
I hate them. I hate all of this. All that I want is to be able to forget this stupid _Society_ ever showed up. I hate being pushed around roughly by a group of prejudicial gits. I hate the feeling of intense shame when they do this. I think they probably know that even if I wasn't trying to keep my head down and not cause trouble that I don't want to tell this to anyone anyway… it's too shameful.   
  
  


**Guys... I was sorta hoping someone (hint, hint, wink, wink) would take a stab at guessing who sent Sara the broomstick. I was afraid it was either too obvious or too subtle, and a few guesses would help me gauge what the reader is getting out of it. That's revealed next chapter... as well as I scene I wanted to tack onto this one, but the darn txt. file again... not enough space. *growls in frustration* I hate this eight-page limit. Stinks. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and that it was partly worth the wait. **


	17. More Important Than A Boyfriend

**A/N: Thanks again to reviewers Ayla Pascal, Emily K. Lupin, ermioneH, Lavander Ice, Le Qui Chat Garde La Lune, Silent Onion, and Sorensen for patience and encouragement.  
  
Chapter 17: More Important Than A Boyfriend  
  
**  


8 February   
  
Neville was wonderful today. It was beautiful. He was a breathless ten minutes late for Potions, and Snape was not in any better frame of mind than usual.  
  
"Well, well, well. It appears Longbottom got lost in the big scary cold dungeons again." The Slytherins snickered and I carefully stole an anxious glance at him.  
  
But Neville wasn't tiptoeing in fearfully with a stammered apology. Indeed, he was almost serene as he walked inside and took a cauldron, except that he was red from embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I lost track of time."  
  
"Indeed. Like most things," Snape snarled. "Care to explain yourself, or have you also_ lost track_ of manners?"  
  
"You say explanation are excuses and excuses are unacceptable, sir," Neville replied evenly.  
  
Someone - probably Ron - whistled.   
  
I thought - hoped - Snape would look put out, but his expression was unreadable. "Which is a roundabout way of saying you were doing something you weren't supposed to do. Twenty points from Gryffindor - ten for the minutes, ten for whatever rule you broke."  
  
Most of the Gryffindors either scowled or rolled their eyes.   
  
"Before you interrupted, we were discussing Somia Mixtures. Longbottom, what does such a potion do - _when brewed **correctly**_?"  
  
"Helps you recall your most recent dreams."  
  
"Speak in full sentences. One point from Gryffindor. What's a key ingredient of a Somia Mixture?"   
  
Neville bit his lower lip a moment, gaze on a lower section of the wall. He looked apprehensive again before squaring his shoulders, as if stiffening his resolve. "One of the ingredients is - is roseweood sap."  
  
"One ingredient. Name any others?"  
  
Neville winced slightly.   
  
"Well? You've wasted enough time, hurry up, boy."  
  
"I don't know, sir." Neville eyed Snape levelly, unflinchingly. Where he had found this new confidence, I wasn't sure, but it was great - inspiring. As Snape turned to Blaise Zambini, several of us applauded lightly, and the boys gave Neville one of those punches on the back.  
  
I finished my Somia Mixture quickly and pulled out the book I had found in the library. I had to check it out along with five other unrelated volumes so as to not arouse Madam Pince's suspicions. It's _The Lion and the Serpent: An Account of the Hogwarts Rivalry_. I'm trying to find instances of raiding foreign common rooms. (I have a funny feeling that Remus and Sirius could shed a _lot_ of light on that, but they're too suspicious already. Furthermore, how do you word that? "Please tell me about those numberous times I suspect you sabotaged the Slytherin common room. How hard exactly was it to get the password? Hope Buckbeak's all right. Sincerely…" Yes, that sounds lovely. Come to think of it, it _doesn't_ sound as ridiculous as it might, sadly…)  
  
I had barely cleaned up and gotten past the introduction when Snape's voice cut in sharply: "You blithering idiot!"   
  
Malfoy couldn't seem to hide a very refined, posh, high-class snort of laughter. Ahem.  
  
I glanced up in time to see Snape pull out his wand. Neville's cauldron was overflowing alarmingly and causing a large puddle of clear liquid that rose in thin bubbles. Then he suddenly withdrew it. "Oh, no." He walked over, nonchalantly avoided the potion on the floor, and picked up Neville's vial of sloth bile. He held it up for all to see; it was full and unused. There were more snickers from the Slytherins.  
  
"Perhaps I can make you to not _lose track_ of crucial steps next time, Longbottom." He produced a damp rag. "You clean that up by hand, now. No magic."  
  
Neville, with a minimum of reddening, took the rag, got on his hands and knees, and started to collect the mixture. The Slytherins found it extremely amusing as the potion wettened his robes and shone on his arms, but he ignored them.   
  
"You're disgusting," Ron was muttering furiously, hands shaking as he and Harry finished their own potion. "You're disgusting and bitter and a slimy creep…" (I suppose he was talking about Snape. Just a wild guess.)  
  
"Weasley? Stop talking to yourself; you'll end up in St. Mungo's," Snape cut in. "Insanity wing."   
  
Neville overbalanced and toppled to one side as Malfoy laughed outright. I suppose Malfoy startled him and had a sudden urge to hex Malfoy into the stratosphere.   
  
"What's with him?" Malfoy sneered.  
  
"Been kissing behind the greenhouses; head's in a cloud," Snape replied smoothly with a nasty glare to Neville.   
  
"Ooooooh," resounded the familiar cry, echoing around the dungeon as Neville carefully kept his head down.  
  
"Longbottom's just been distracted lately," Snape sneered, looking down at him as if he were some sort of insect. "Probably kissing behind the greenhouses; head in a cloud."  
  
What little I could see of Neville's head turned pink. Ron, a few tables down from me, scowled, having had enough. He whispered loudly, recklessly: "Snape's just jealous 'cause no witch in their right mind's been kissing_ him_, especially not in Sprout's greenhouses."  
  
There was a pronounced silence. I wondered if Snape, at the other end of the room, had heard, when Sara smirked. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, you know, Ron."  
  
That was the straw that broke the hippogriff's back. Us Gryffindors snickered heartily. Ron and Blustovadk both have detention.   
  
  
10 February  
  
_The Lion and the Serpent_ is useless in that area. Well, I suppose not useless, but it has a frustrating lack of the information I was hoping for.   
  
It seems that just about every time one House makes it to the other's common room, there's usually bribery or a traitor involved. It further seems that never, in any case, was the password found from lack of security on the part of the staff, although prefects have been key ground at times. Velna Gashingburg, a Gryffindor (all us Gryffindors are ashamed to admit), and Filius Rossier, a Slytherin, had made many Galleons in selling their passwords and weren't caught for many years afterwards. How dare they. That's not exactly loyalty to your House. In any case, no one has ever broken the Orb of Passwords, Passages, and Another Secretive Matters that is controlled by the Head Boy and Girl. This year that is Machete Baddock and Leila Hildegarde, a responsible Ravenclaw. Hmm. While I put nothing past Baddock, even the Head Boy can't get the password to any but his own House.  
  
In any case, the book has been damaged anyway, because the Society for Purity caught me in the hallways again and chucked it around. I don't know what to tell Madam Pince; she's going to have my head on a platter and will probably dissect my organs to give to Snape for Potions ingredients.   
  
The school is in a frenzy over the Valentine Friday Night Fling (technically, it's not a Friday night, but that's a minor detail everyone is planning to overlook). I have not been asked. Parvati has, though - Milo Benney, a Gryffindor sixth-year. That's nice for her. So has Susan Bones, she's going with Justin Finch-Fletchey. Lavender and Seamus are going together, of course, no one ever doubts that.   
  
Ron _was_ not going to ask anyone until I overheard Harry and him in conversation. Now, if you'll believe me, Harry is asking Cho Chang. Really._ I _didn't believe it. Tactless! But I can't blame him, and, well, it's sweet. Somehow, I think if Cho refused him, I might send a curse or two learned from the Society for Purity her way. Oh, not really. But I wish she would, just once, so they have a chance to talk and reconcile - not that there was any fight in the first place. It leaves Ron in quite a position, however, and I know he hopes Cho refuses.   
  
Cripes, this is sad when I'm reduced to filling in on dating gossip in my diary. Last time, well, that's my first time, I have an excuse. I really must stop this habit, however.   
  
February 11  
  
  
What did I say about stop recording the dating news? Oh, but this has to go in, it's too good!   
  
Neville and Cho are going to the Friday Night Fling together!   
  
_That_ is sweet; that is very, very sweet. Poor Cho needs someone to comfort her since Cedric's death, and Neville is the sweetest person for listening you've ever met.   
  
I overheard it today while listening to Ron and Harry.  
  
Ron: "How'd asking Cho go?" (He sounded hopeful. Harry looked dejected.)  
  
Harry: "She said she was going with someone else." (Harry sat down at a table in the common room, supporting his forehead with the palm of his hand, which was supported by the surface of the table.)   
  
Ron: "Oh. Well. Well, you know, she probably had a zillion good-looking hopefuls ask her out; it's not as if, well, you know."  
  
Harry: "No one has been asking her. They feel too awkward about Cedric."  
  
Ron: "Oh. Well. Well, how did - who - ?"  
  
Harry: "Neville."   
  
There was a long silence.   
  
Ron: "That's not even funny, Harry!" He laughed anyway, chuckling as he used the "joke" as an excuse to put his Transfiguration homework aside.  
  
Harry: "I'm not joking."   
  
Ron didn't even know what to say when he was finally convinced that Harry was serious. "I - how - no - I mean - Neville - can't be - Cho - you - that's… Neville _Longbottom_?" as if there were dozens of Nevilles in the school. Then he saw me staring at them raptly. "What do _you_ want?" he sneered.  
  
I turned my head haughtily. It wasn't hard; I just imagined Fleur Delacour. "Nothing from _you_." How easily that lie came.   
  
They had to run off to their next class (Ron working out excuses to give McGonagall, I'm sure) but Sara, who had been sitting by them and helping to brace Harry, murmured to them quite audibly: "For someone who now hates you, she takes a lot of interest in what you're doing, doesn't she?" Oh, how very clever of her. But let's not think of Blustovadk right now. That ruins a perfectly good piece of news (besides Harry, of course, I feel badly for him, and it must've taken a few sleepless nights to work up the nerve, but I'm so _happy_ for Neville!  
  
It took precisely three hours for this piece of news to catch around the school like wildfire. Neville entered the common room a little while ago (it's evening now) to thunderous applause. The twins, Seamus, and Ron especially were very enthusiastic about the deal. Neville was blushing furiously at the twins' bad jokes. Well, Fred's. George is… George is somewhere. Rodney Grids kept saying rather thickly: "The prettiest girl in school, Longbottom, she's the prettiest girl in school!"   
  
"Rod, I'm hurt," a girl in his year teased, pretending to pout.   
  
Neville seemed absolutely relived that the conversation had finally turned from him and Cho. That didn't last long, however, but he seemed to have gained some small about of self-confidence. It wasn't as obvious as in the Potions room facing Snape, but it's been there a while, and I wonder why I didn't notice.   
  
But that is probably the best piece of news I've heard in a while, and when Neville glanced at me, I managed another small, discreet smile, and he returned it. I can risk a little for him, I suppose.  
  
  
February 12  
  
The Society for Purity caught me again today. They have been frequently; I just don't see any point in depressing myself further. Anyway, this one is worth recording.   
  
It was a sixth-floor corridor. I went there for privacy to read _The Tale of Two Houses_. That was a plain stupid move. I was on the second chapter when I heard these distinctive footsteps that are imprinted in my memory - Malfoy's shuffling swagger, Baddock's intimidating straightness, Goyle's heavy thumping about, Peterson's tiptoe walk, and Rodgers's uncertain following.   
  
I screamed at myself inwardly - _stupid, stupid, stupid_! I should have known better and felt that this episode was coming to me and well deserved.  
  
The confrontations have gotten tiresomely similar, but each frightening, with Baddock's deadpanning threats and Goyle's cracking of knuckles. I had remained silent throughout the beginning and aroused their impatience. Finally Baddock withdrew his wand and held it at me, even while knowing it does nothing, and Goyle and he stepped up, ready to punch me in the shoulder -  
  
"My, my, my, whatever happened to 'hands off'?"  
  
"I don't know, Sara, perhaps Mr. Goyle and Mr. Baddock are just pantomiming."   
  
"Let's hope so, Dean," a grim voice said. I opened my eyes and saw the owner of the third voice - Leila Hildegarde, the Head Girl. Goyle's fist was quickly down. The Slytherins were blocking my view from anyone but Leila, Dean, and Sara's arm, so I wondered why. Baddock grabbed me threateningly, as if taking me as a hostage.  
  
"Hello, all," Leila continued brightly. "Some of Hermione's classmates have been clueing us in on their suspicions of this kind of thing. Machete," her tone got much colder, "take your hands off Miss Granger. Immediately."   
  
Baddock's hand left my forearm reluctantly as he tried to sneer, but as he stepped aside, I saw my defenders more clearly. Nearly every non-Slytherin prefect was there, from the Head Girl herself to Dean, Sara, Terry, Justin, Susan, Cho Chang, Houghton Kelsey, Alicia, Sunny Fawcett, and a couple of others I didn't recognise. They far outnumbered the Society. The Slytherins' faces were carefully controlled, but they clearly weren't as confident as they'd been.   
  
"Malfoy, give her back her wand," Dean ordered, voice tight and stern.   
  
Malfoy glanced at Baddock. I didn't see Baddock's expression change, but obviously he communicated something, and Malfoy held it out to me. I took it firmly.   
  
"Interesting, Machete," Leila said coolly. "I seem to remember that there are several rules in place that apply to this situation. To begin, no Hogwarts student is to be manhandled. Secondly, no Hogwarts student is to be threatened. Thirdly -"  
  
"How, how _noble_, Hildegarde," Baddock sneered. "Rules? Every Hogwarts student has been manhandled and threatened."  
  
"Thirdly," Leila said a little more loudly, "everyone has the right to enjoy the privilege of a safe and harm-free environment for education -"  
  
"Typical Ravenclaw," Peterson cut in with a sneer of his own. "Laying down the laws. And?"  
  
Leila looked angrier, but Sara whispered something.  
  
"Watch it, Blustovadk. Whispering in front of company is very _rude_," Malfoy commented.  
  
Leila nodded to Blustovadk and Dean. Blustovadk smiled vaguely. "Beating up a fellow classmate is very_ rude_."  
  
"Doing it the coward's way in deserted corridors and threatening her not to tell anyone is also very _rude_," Dean agreed. "Speaking of which, you all right, Hermione?"  
  
No, I was not all right. My face burned furiously.  
  
"Mr. Thomas and Miss Blustovadk are very talented in the area of dueling," Leila informed us.   
  
Without a moment's hesitation, Dean and Sara raised their wands. Two small strips of lightening crackled across, meeting each other in the middle and ricocheting to the ceiling. They left small burn marks precisely on two of the diamonds of the painted pattern.  
  
The Slytherins were silent, but I doubt they were scared. Some of them were probably Avada Kedarvaing since birth.  
  
"Nothing prevents us from turning you in to the teachers," Cho spoke up in a quiet, angry voice. "Except that we'll trust you just once not to do it again."  
  
"Yeah, Mrs. Diggory." Even for the Society, that was pretty low. I don't know who said it. "We can deny everything, you know."  
  
Cho paled, but looked composed.   
  
"We have proof. We can gather your notes and have your victims as witness and there's such things as truth serums," Leila pointed out. "So if we see your hands on Miss Granger ever again, or she informs us that has happened, it's off to Dumbledore for you all. Hermione? Come on." She Summoned my book.   
  
Was I grateful? Well, yes. But I also felt humiliated. I didn't meet anyone's eyes as I unwillingly crossed over to my cavalry.   
  
"Good day," Alicia said bitingly. "Not that you need it. Your consciences don't exist; I don't see what'll bother you."  
  
I mumbled a sort of thanks after we left.  
  
"No problem, Hermione," Terry said heartily. "I'm just sorry we didn't know before. Sara and Dean clued us in by observing you."  
  
I tried very hard not to glare at them.   
  
"It's been happening with several others," Leila added. "We're trying to prevent it. Hermione, if they bother you again, come straight to us, all right? No use in me being Head Girl if I can't do anything about those creeps."  
  
"I'll be fine," I said flatly. "Don't worry."  
  
"We will worry," Sunny Fawcett insisted. "You're one of the cleverest students in the school."  
  
I tried to find the connection between those two sentences.   
  
I suppose I felt honoured, in a way, but I was also frustrated with them. Do they think just turning them over to the teachers will help? These are the children with _Death Eaters_ as Mama and Papa. If I make trouble for them, they will for me and twofold. That doesn't solve anything and it gets Dumbledore worried.   
  
Still, it's sort of nice to know most of the circle of prefects, not to mention Head Girl, thinks that highly of you.  
  
  
February 13  
  
Well, so much for elated feelings of happiness.   
  
_What _is with all these hormones? Isn't _anyone_ possibly sane and in their right mind any longer?   
  
I had finished writing and had completed most of my homework of the week when I decided the excited common room was too much and needed some quiet. Parvati and Lavender were in the common room, reading_ Teen Witch Weekly_, and Sara is often goodness-knows-where, prefect duties or whatnot.   
  
Not tonight, however. I slipped up the circling staircase and heard a boy's voice. Immediately wondering why on earth they were over here _so late at night_ - ahem - I walked softly and realised they were by the door to the fifth years' dormitory.  
  
"So - yes, sure, that'll, that'll be fi - great." It was Sara.  
  
"Oh, yeah." This was George, sounding incredibly relived. "T-Thanks a lot, that will - er, I mean - s-so you're not angry?"   
  
Sara laughed rather nervously and breathlessly. "Oh, no, not at all - I can't really tell you off for _that_, you saved my life…"  
  
"Not literally," George said modestly.   
  
I remained silent, curious as to what this was. I thought Sara might've been referring to when George had caught her in mid-air the practice before Christmas that Snape had tried to boot her off the team. Then, curse them, the Parvati and Lavender showed up.   
  
"Sara? _George_?" Lavender asked in slight disbelief. "Er - what are you doing here?"  
  
"Nothing," they said together quickly.   
  
"George - George was just explaining something about - about History of Magic to me," Blustovadk said quickly.  
  
I snickered. Really - _hallo_!   
  
Parvati grinned knowingly. "Ah, really?" she asked innocently. "Sorry for interrupting; if we could get in our dorm…"   
  
"Yeah, sure," George said, and the two practically jumped out of the way. "Erm, see you later, Sara."  
  
I wondered whether it would be incredibly rude to mention aloud how their necks were reddening by the second.   
  
"G'night, George. And - and thanks!"  
  
He nodded. "Sure." They exchanged a last smile and kept eye contact for a smidgen longer than necessary.   
  
Sara was getting no peace. I was still slightly shocked, although I guessed that explained why George was a little off lately, but Parvati and Lavender bombarded her with questions.  
  
"What about History of Magic?" Parvati demanded.   
  
"Nothing." Sara was trying, and not utterly succeeding, in sounding serene, although her tone was light. "George just asked me to the Fling tomorrow, that's all."  
  
Even though I'm sure we had all guessed that by now, the girls' faces lit up with big knowing smiles. "Aw, you two make a _great _couple!"   
  
"I hope you'll be happy," Lavender nodded, with the air of one of to whom having a steady boyfriend is an old experience.   
  
Sara rolled her eyes. "It's just one Fling, we haven't really discussed marriage yet. In fact, we won't."  
  
"The _Valentine's_ Fling," I couldn't help but add significantly, taking her act down.   
  
"If you'll all excuse me, I need some sl -" Blustovadk began.   
  
"And - ohmigosh - did he send you the Nimbus?" Parvati asked suddenly.   
  
Sara nodded, blushing, and Lavender practically screamed. "_Sara_! That's _so_ romantic!"  
  
My role as Bad Girl was becoming more and more comfortable. "Oh, come on, it's a battered secondhand broomstick," I pointed out.  
  
Parvati and Lavender glared at me poisonously.   
  
"Why anonymously?" Parvati asked quickly.   
  
"George said he felt shy about asking me…"   
  
"That's _so_ sweet…"  
  
And now this conversation has gotten sickeningly sugary. Concentrate on Neville and Cho, Hermione, concentrate on Neville and Cho… and go to sleep. Luckily Crookshanks has told me that he finds this all as silly as myself. He rolled his yellow eyes and curled up on my feet, paws over his ears.   
  
  
February 15  
  
The night was fine, the food was delicious, the drinks were cold, the stars and crescent moon were shining, the Malaclaws were setting aside hard beat for smooth rhythm. Cho and Neville had disappeared after Neville's admirable attempts to dance properly; Lavender and Seamus looked stunning as always; people stared at George and Sara; Ron and Harry had struck up a conversation with Sally-Anne Perks (I think Harry secretly likes her heavy Irish accent) and Charlotte Kindle (who looked stunning with some serious cosmetic and dressing help). All romantic and lovely and all was right in the world and I hope they all enjoyed their Fling.  
  
How can anyone _think_ of that with a _war_ going on?   
  
There was another mark of war last night. I spotted Nicole Fairchild (honestly, that girl has an absolute_ magnetism_ for Friday Night Flings) through the doorway and went to investigate. I crossed the room easily and slipped into the corridor, mumbling Chameleon Charms (they're weak, but better than none).   
  
"Why, Ms. Skylark!" Sinistra exclaimed. "I didn't know you'd be attending tonight…" She trailed off.  
  
Ms. Skylark's simple navy robes were torn and soiled badly; her face was cut and bleeding, not terribly so, but enough for concern, definitely. "Professor, I need to see Dumbledore - this is urgent, please!"  
  
"Er - yes, of course - I think he's busy at the moment -"  
  
"Tell him it's about Aberdeen! The dragon and Josette!"  
  
Sinistra obeyed orders, quickly running off. I hid behind the tableclothed table and watched Skylark keenly as she waited, looking for any sign of guilt. She wasn't quite wringing her hands, but close to it. She was panting heavily and barely repressing sobs.   
  
Dumbledore rushed in. "Nicole? What is it? Oh - Nicole -"  
  
It's so very odd. The last time I saw Dumbledore and Skylark together, Dumbledore was as close to harsh as I've ever seen him. I had been even a little scared of him, at Ms. Skylark for causing it. But now his expression was soft and caring, and as the tears spilled over the singer's face, he gently held an arm out and pulled her into a comforting hug, like an uncle comforting a niece who just got dumped by her first serious boyfriend. I can only conclude that he chastises and comforts by what the moment dictates, and now I respect and trust him more than ever.  
  
"Nicole, tell me what happened."  
  
"The dragon - really was one - Ch-Charlie saw that right - right away. Remus and Charlie t-told Josie and me to double-back… I lost track of Josie… I don't know how the boys are doing but last I saw they had gotten a bit singed - where on earth was the Ministry? - Sir, you've got to send me back there to look for Josie - she can't do magic, you know that!"  
  
"Okay, Nicole, I see -"  
  
A quick _slam_ of the front entrance door and two more familiar faces appeared, which was a relief to know they were apparently all right even if it didn't let me know who Josie was.   
  
"She's not here - damn - please tell me she's here," Charlie pleaded distractedly. Except maybe for Sirius that night in the Shrieking Shack, I have truly never seen anyone so pale, especially when Charlie is usually so sunburned and tan.  
  
"If you mean Josette, she hasn't arrived here," Dumbledore replied calmly.  
  
Charlie swore. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted Hopkirk! Nicole, when'd you last see Josie?"  
  
"At the bridge of Rowena's River. Wh -"  
  
"Hopkirk swore he saw Josie and Nicole use the Portkey," Remus explained to her and Dumbledore calmly, but with edgy quickness. "He said he and Maurice would keep looking for her over there and to alert you now."  
  
"We didn't!" Nicole protested worriedly.  
  
That's obvious, I said to myself. Unless Nicole was lying. She had apparently been the last to see this Josie person.   
  
Remus and Charlie didn't bother waiting one second more before readying to leave. (Who is this Josie? Who?)  
  
"Charlie, Remus, wait a moment, please," Dumbledore commanded, his voice not sounding like he was in the middle of some disastrous calamity.   
  
Their reluctance to halt was obvious, but they did. Dumbledore continued: "You two had better at least heal some of those cuts. You're going right out to battle Death Eaters and the dragon if you're looking for Josie."  
  
"No, really? I thought I had to pick her up at the Leaky Cauldron and stroll around awhile," Charlie muttered, jaw set tightly. He inhaled labouredly. "We'll do that on the way, see you later, Sir - Nicole."  
  
Nicole ran after them. "Sorry!" she called over her shoulder to Dumbledore. "I'll be needed. I'll see that the boys use a few charms. Charlie looks terrible for his Diagon Alley date."  
  
Dumbledore watched them go, blue eyes vaguely concerned. "I'm sure you will, my dear," he said to himself. "When you remember."  
  
I waited a little while Dumbledore stroked his beard, apparently running through strategy and tactics in a world no one else could follow. I wonder how he handles that all himself. Then I wondered how we would handle that if anything happened to him. No, that's ridiculous.   
  
He disappeared a few moments. I stayed hidden, waiting to see more, worried, perhaps, that they might be out all night.   
  
The doors to the entrance hall opened, and silhouetted in the doorway was a slight woman. She walked inside, gaping at the halls around her. I noticed by the torches that her hair was a coppery colour. She stepped hesitantly, and I debated helping her. For one, I didn't want to reveal I had been there. For another, the poor woman looked desperately frightened and lost. I ran through options - this might be Josie, and I can meet her - it might be a Death Eater, I might die - Dumbledore might be angry with me - he knew I was there the whole time, what doesn't he know? - until the question was settled. Dumbledore himself walked in.   
  
"Miss Chance, I assume." (He pronounced it the French way.) "A pleasure to meet you at last."  
  
Josie Chance looked at him, large silvery-blue eyes frightened, before Dumbledore's comfort slipped over her. She gave a very small smile. "Yes, Sir. You must be Professor Dumbledore - I've heard much of you from Remus and Charlie."   
  
"Most of it good, I hope." Dumbledore took her hand and kissed it, although she was only about Charlie's age.  
  
"Y-Yes." I wondered if Josie felt the same as myself - how can Dumbledore be so courteous at a time like this?   
  
"I'm interested to know how you got here alive. The two in mention are searching for you."  
  
Josie's eyes widened. "Oh, no - will they know to come back? It's - It's terrible over there, Sir, I'm worried for them."  
  
"We'll send for them as quickly as possible, indeed. They're more than capable of taking care of themselves. Charlie has raised the Hungarian Twins" (he has? Why has no one mentioned _this_?) "and Remus is a duelist equal to the best Aurors, according to Alastor Moody." (Another surprise. So modest, we all are.)  
  
Josie looked surprised but not as impressed as myself. "Erm - that's very good, I take it?"  
  
"Extremely so. And Nicole - you know of her? - is no fool, either."  
  
Josie didn't relax until Remus returned. Charlie had told him to check and see if Josie had gotten there. With a sigh of relief and a concerned question of Josie's health, he set back to get Charlie and Nicole from the melee. Aurors and the Hit Squad were handling it, and both had been annoyed at their "interference". (Apparently they don't know what I had, either, or they resent it.)   
  
Charlie took one look at Josie and hugged her so tightly I thought the slim girl was going to have her bones crushed. He cried silently, absolutely unashamed. (I wonder if Ron would ever cry in public without gruffly trying to cover it.)   
  
"We have this much to be thankful for," Dumbledore said gently when Charlie released her and dried his eyes considerably. "If you would all come with me? We need to talk privately."  
  
What happened to perfectly obedient Hermione? I didn't even realise that I had been plotting unabashedly on how to follow them when Remus told them he'd be there in just a moment. After they left, he came over to the table.   
  
"Hallo, Hermione."  
  
I reddened furiously and scrambled to my feet. "Hello, Remus. Feeling all right from the skirmish?"   
  
"Right as rain. Shouldn't you be enjoying the Fling? They seem to be rare now." Remus's tone was casual.  
  
I didn't meet his eye. "I don't like Flings. I never did like being a 'real girl'."   
  
"Nonsense. You just don't enjoy not being a 'real girl' lately."  
  
I stiffened and used my most detached voice. "I don't know what you mean, Sir."   
  
"You miss Harry and Ron and Ginny. Understandably."  
  
Prove it, I almost shot back. "Why would I be missing them?" I didn't know what tone to use, no I kept it neutral. Slytherins might be listening.  
  
Remus sighed. "Hermione, if you want me signal to them some way about this -"  
  
"No."  
  
I expected him to argue. He didn't. I tried to imagine what he was thinking and came up with the memory of him explaining his own deceit to his friends that he felt so lucky to have. It was my turn to sigh. "Not to be ungrateful. I just feel a little tired." I wondered if he'd press me some more.   
  
"Very well." He paused and gave me a significant glance. "Try to remember the adjective Professor Dumbledore just used - we need to talk _privately_."  
  
I reddened again, deeply. "Yes. Sir." I wasn't even trying to be pert with that answer; he just sounded very teacherish at that moment.   
  
"If you want some details, owl Snuffles and me a little later," he said more gently. "G'night, Hermione."  
  
I said something polite in return (I hope) and did retreat to my dormitory. Collasping onto my four-poster (not bothering to change my robes) I debated on whether to talk up on Remus's offer to get information - bless him for knowing adolescent curiosity, I want nothing more than to get that information - and decided on "no". I wanted to stay away from them as well - Slytherins were probably patrolling my post - and furthermore, I didn't want to deal with their well-meaning intentions to reconcile my situation to Ron, Harry, and Ginny.   
  
I've always been the weaker one of the group; vulnerable and bookish. It's always me who gets picked on and sneered at for being Muggle-born. How long do they have to worry about me? Not now, I can assure you.   


  
**Darn. Not enough room for one more little scene. *makes face* 'Til next time.**  


  
  



	18. Hagrid's Flight

**It took forever and I'm a horrible person. I know. I've been working on some other projects, including my two brand new spanking stories on the account "Green Eyed Lady". Warning: I plan to spend a good deal of time on them in the near future. Another of my infamous excuses is that graduation is coming soon, and since I'm trying to win a scholarship for a private high school, I have a lot of work to do. Patience is gratefully appreicated. When I *do* get a free day, however, well, let's just say the greater portion of this was written because of one free day from school. So come summer I should be able to finish up very quickly.  
  
Thanks again to those who have taken the time to review: Ayla Pascal, Bella Pontette, blackcatmischief, enoimreH (can you make that name any more complicated? :-), Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Silent Onion, Sorensen, and Taracollowen. I'm forever indebted to your support. As in literally. It'll take forever to finish writing this! *grin*  
  
Chapter 18: Hagrid's Flight**  


  
15 February, later  
  
Quiet. It's quiet. It's wonderfully quiet.   
  
Noise - all I've heard today. Loud, headachy, gossipy noise, no less. All I've heard about is that Fling and the dragons over in Rowena's River.   
  
But now, since it's a Hogsmeade weekend (while we're on this vein, why do they call it a _weekend_? We're only in Hogsmeade one day, and not even a full one…) most of the common room has cleared out. There's only the soft chattering of the younger students. There used to be a time they'd be furiously loud since no bossy older Gryffindors were around to tell them off on these days, but now everyone is too subdued. War.   
  
I decided not to go; I feel tired from the night before and I can't count on Blustovadk to be around and flirty if another Arrow fan is stalking me again. Furthermore there's a lot of gossip (_not _on teenage lovelives) to record.   
  
I'm sorely tempted to take up on Remus's offer, because you will not _believe_ some of these stories going around! If I listened and believed every rumour that reached my ears, that would mean that Britain in all aflame, Cornelius Fudge is dead (I can't say it's that great a loss), He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has taken over Rowena's River and is using it to travel to ports, and Death Eaters have the entire Floo system patrolled. Frighteningly enough, these may be true at some point (although I have it on good authority - Dumbledore himself - that they aren't just yet) but some of the other ones are ridiculous. For example, everyone who drinks water from Rowena's River has had their toes turn into tiny furry wriggly mice. And another that a herd of dragons has to be coaxed to migrate across Europe. Er, let's just say some people have too much time on their hands and really overactive imaginations and too much time on their hands.  
  
The Society for Purity has that, too. Too much time on their hands, I mean. They cornered me again today, earlier, sort of defying me, knowing as well I as did that nothing the prefects would do would matter much, with their family reunions made up of Death Eaters anyway. They didn't hurt me very seriously, but threatened a bit and that whole routine, adding a bit about what I was skulking around doing last night.  
  
I wish I could hire a wizard to stay very, very close to Mum and Dad.  
  
  
16 February   
  
The _Daily Prophet_ came in. Funnily enough, those rumours about the dragons were correct! I got a hold of one today at lunch. A herd of dragons was in Rowena's River (well, from my eavesdropping, I guess I knew that) and were abandoned by whoever brought them in (read: Death Eaters). Now the Ministry is left with the responsibility of getting them back to their reservation.  
  
When I heard they were Hebridean Blacks, memory was sparked and I looked up my copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_. It states they've been watched over for many years by the MacFustys, a wizarding clan. I did some more research at the library and refreshed my knowledge of the fierce devotion the MacFustys are known to have for the Hebridean Blacks. Now, I wonder, just what happened to the MacFustys? Logic tells you the Death Eaters either kidnapped or killed them, but I haven't found word of _that_ in the _Prophet_.   
  
Perhaps I ought to be a reporter. Then I can get _all _of the _accurate_ facts out.   
  
The Society for Purity cornered me yet again (twice in two days - do they not get enough homework?) and made several snide remarks about the affair.  
  
"Wouldn't you like mammy and daddy to see some pretty dwagons 'fore they die?" Malfoy sneered, bad-tempered because Snape's charm was resisting his attempts to magically throw me against the wall. (Crabbe then finished the job manually.)   
  
Is it truly selfish to stay at Hogwarts, putting my family at danger? This has kept nagging at me a while. But then, this long circular mental debate continues, and I conclude that if I leave and You-Know-Who wins, we'll be good as dead anyway. At least this way I'm not only fighting him but also learning to protect myself and them if worse came to worse. (Well, with what I'm learning with Drothl, I suppose I shan't learn much defence there, but that's not the only way I'm learning.)   
  
Another odd thing. When I slipped back into the common room and to my dormitory I found a bottle of Venn's Magical Bruise Balm. I used a little, warily, and it worked perfectly fine and I don't seem to be hexed. I must say I'm getting _very _tired of anonymous notes and gifts! Can't the sender just stand up and confess they sent it?   
  
20 February  
  
YEA! Why not throw Mairead Birmingham to the wind - she's not my literate arts teacher any longer - I'll tack on all the exclamation points I want. YEA!!!!!!! So there, Mrs. Birmingham - there's seven of them.  
  
Ron and Harry sent the Bruise Balm - they told me about it Sunday morning - well, the conversation went something along these lines as they caught up with me in the Gryffindor passages to the Great Hall, with no one else around:   
  
Ron: Well, if it isn't our little rainbow. (But not snidely, as he had been lately.)  
  
Me (avoiding eyes): Shut up, Ron.  
  
Harry: Didn't we get enough Balm?  
  
Me (turning in shock, forgetting act): _What?  
_  
Harry (spots my arm): Ouch… those Slytherins really did a number there, didn't they?  
  
Me (quickly pulls sleeve over bruise): No! Why don't you mind your - what? (I only just now realised that they_ knew_.)  
  
Ron (folds arms): It's okay, Hermione. We know about those (we'll just skip over his adjectives) Slytherins. Come on. (lightly takes my wrist and leads me over to the thick windowsill) Let's sit down.   
  
Me: You… You weren't supposed to know…  
  
Harry (raises eyebrow): That. Is obvious.   
  
Ron: Yeah, we got that impression. (mimicking) "Well, Weasley, it sure took you a while to realise I was a person…"  
  
Me (reddens): Ron - I'm - I'm sorry about that - I didn't mean…  
  
Ron, naturally wanted to know about that, so I explained the façade, how I had tried to protect my family and them in one blow.   
  
You know what? They reacted exactly as I predicted: Harry was wide-eyed at first, and then his mouth took on a scary, firm set, and Ron yelled (before I muffled him with my hand) a couple of swear words and a "Give me my wand, Hermione, I'm going to hex all of them into the next century!"  
  
"It's not every Slytherin, Ron, some are perfectly nice… look at Chelsea Smythe."  
  
"I'll get them all until I get the right one!"  
  
After we calmed him down and explained the importance of keeping his a secret, Ron grew really thoughtful and even a little… sweet.   
  
"You've been fantastic, Hermione."   
  
That's praise!  
  
"Just remember that everyone has to believe that we don't like each other," I said warningly.  
  
"Tough acting job!" Ron laughed, a little bitterly, a little lightheartedly.   
  
"How'd you find out?"  
  
"We got suspicious one day when we heard Dean and Sara talking about 'telling the other prefects about what they're doing to Hermione'… once we realised you hadn't really meant to be a git - sorry - lately and spied around, we sort of figured it out on our own. Then the other day we saw them corner you… Harry convinced me not to say anything just yet. We got the Bruise Balm in Hogsmeade yesterday."  
  
"So I looked that bad?" I asked with a wry smile.  
  
"You never look bad - erm, I mean, no, not really - well, sort of - just - just bruised."  
  
What exactly does _that_ mean? "Oh," was all I could reply with. There was this really long, somewhat-awkward-but-not-so-awkward-I-wished-it-would-end silence.   
  
"You two are too good," I whispered at last, because if I didn't open my mouth I was going to choke on my tears.   
  
"Yeah right," Ron grinned, and then looked at me. I blinked furiously, but it did no good. I kept thinking: _don't cry, don't cry, they get horrified every time you do… _Nothing doing, those stupid tears ended up rolling down my face anyway. "Well, Hermione's crying again. Everything's going to be all right; everything's back to normal."  
  
I used the back of my hand to dry my face and looked for something to say. I then realised Harry was missing. "Where's Harry?" (I asked with great amounts of dignity.)  
  
Ron didn't know. Harry later said, very neutrally, that he figured we could use some time alone.   
  
I'll forgive him. It was so fantastic just to smile at them again. I guess I hadn't realised just how much I had missed them.   
  
Ron had an interesting idea then. Thoughtfully, he asked: "So they've been… beating… on you a… couple months now?"  
  
I winced. "Honestly, Ron, don't throw any temper tantrums on me, I think you know the answer to that now, and you don't have to worry, Snape gave me this charm that's been protecting me from the most dangerous - "  
  
"_Snape_'s been giving you _what_?" Ron hollered.  
  
"Ron, keep it _down_!" I quickly explained about the charm; Ron was wide-eyed. "So see? It's been working."  
  
He sighed and shrugged. "If I get another chance to shoot spiders on his head, this doesn't mean I won't take it." I snorted before I thought; Ron looked pleased - for the moment. Then he got serious again. "Hermione, I hate this, I absolutely hate this, but we've got something really good going now."  
  
"What do you mean?" I asked skeptically.  
  
"What I _mean _is that every so often you are with them as they, well, threaten you, and I'm not happy about it, but you've got a real chance here."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Like, do they tell you about, say, what they might do if you don't do such-and-such?"  
  
"Yes. It usually involves torture for me and death for you."  
  
"Do they mention how they might pull it off?"  
  
I blinked slowly and then caught onto his meaning. "Ah! I see what you mean…"  
  
"Sort of like spying," Ron nodded. I noticed now that his face was inches from mine, and his eyes had never been so earnest, thoughtful, and intense.  
  
"Yeah… Rodgers, that Slytherin, he's an expert with Crutiacus Curses, and most all of them know Climatics…"  
  
Ron winced but said: "That sort of stuff. We can find their strengths and weaknesses, maybe even conclude what they plan to do next…"  
  
I couldn't believe Ron was being so… _mature_ about it. I expected him to be off the handle, and he was for a while, but he discussed this spying angle with me quite calmly. I feel rather proud of him, in fact.  
  
Even though we still can't talk openly, the past few days have been absolutely fantastic. Ron and Harry have acted their parts to a T, and no one suspects anything, but I know they're there. We'll find a place to hideout sometimes just to talk. They make me laugh chronically. I've been seeing this masquerade as a life-or-death situation so long that I've never found it funny, but they do. I'd be annoyed they weren't taking it seriously, normally, but I just can't get upset at them now.   
  
The one problem is Ginny. Ron and Harry say they haven't told her anything, and that Ginny had been incredibly angry with me since December. "I though it'd die down," Ron shrugged, "but she's just getting more and more ticked the longer this goes on." So sooner or later I'm going to have to talk with her. I'm just trying to find the right time, when no Slytherins are watching and no Gryffindors will notice… well, partly. I also feel nervous about it as well. I know what Ron means; I've seen her glares at me lately. If looks could kill I could succeed Nick as Gryffindor ghost.  
  
Well, technically, there's one more problem, too - Sara. I mentioned this to the boys and confessed that I didn't like how they had "replaced" me.  
  
You would've thought I had slapped them! They were a good deal affronted.   
  
"_No one_ can replace you, Hermione!" Ron said.   
  
"But - it looked like - "  
  
"How d'you really think we can just replace a friendship like ours? We've been through _everything_ together," Harry interrupted. "Yeah, Sara's fun, Sara's nice to talk with, yeah, I wouldn't mind calling her a friend. But she's Sara and you're Hermione." Seeing I looked unconvinced, he added: "Hermione, she lets us copy her homework occasionally! D'you know how _wrong _that feels?"  
  
Even I laughed at that.   
  
"Besides, she's two years older and George is dead gone on her. And she on him," Ron added. "Oh, Hermione, didn't you see it at the Valentine's Fling? I've never seen George so dopey." He imitated a blank stare, mouth open. " 'Uh… uh-huh… yeah…' It's pathetic, absolutely pathetic. I could hardly believe it was actually him.  
  
"But anyway, I do like Sara. But she's not you and I've missed you."  
  
"Truthfully, Hermione…" Harry began hesitantly. "Truthfully, the main reason I started talking with her over Christmas is because - first, we were all alone in Gryffindor, of course, but also… her parents are dead too, Hermione. And she doesn't feel she belongs - anywhere but here. I owe so much to you two, but… but it feels nice to have someone who knows. We don't even have to discuss it, we'd rather not, but we know."   
  
Well, how exactly can I completely hate someone who helps Harry… I wonder if he purposefully set up that guilt trap for me to tolerate her. But something else I've noticed lately, she disappears a lot during the evenings. Now, where exactly is she going?   
  
This has been a merciless entry. I really must finish up some Potions work for next week, and Crookshanks is suffering for attention.  
  
_  
22 February  
  
Hermione, I know I am in your diary. I didn't want to stoop to your sorts of levels to get a point across, but I need to send you a note, and simply because my brother is dead gone on you I don't want you to be caught.   
  
You told me all about what those Slytherins are doing and I can understand why you had to put on an act. But I'm still very angry with you for not telling us! Honestly, I thought we were friends, and friends don't hide things like that. Can you really not trust us enough? I know in my first year I didn't tell you about the diary and everything, but I think it's unfair for you to bring that up, because I barely knew you then. Since then I thought we had shared everything. I think it's awfully mean of you to go around lying to us, destroying reputations and spreading lies just because you were "ashamed" to admit what the Society for Purity was doing to you. Ashamed?! Why do you need to feel ashamed?  
  
I still don't understand why you couldn't just tell us this but I can't be a friend with someone who is going to hide things like this from me. Trust me, my brothers treat me like a little girl enough. You've always said I could be trusted, now why not follow up on that?   
  
However since apparently Harry and Ron do care about you now I don't want to cause tension. Just continue ignoring me and I'll do the same. Unlike **some people** I don't want to cause unnecessary waves and petty disagreements.   
  
Ginny Weasley_  
  
22 February, later  
  
I suppose since I'm pressed for time I might as well thank Ginny. Thank Ginny? I want to strangle her for going into my diary. At least now, however, there's no need for me to recount what happened when I talked with her. I explained all about the Society, and Ginny angrily whispered a few questions, huffed off, and I got this.   
  
The worst thing is, she might be right. But I think _she_'s being unfair; hindsight is only twenty-twenty. Perhaps I _should_ have told them, but when the life of you and your family is dependant upon your immediate actions, how often do you really think through everything and have every decision you make correct? Furthermore, she may not have known me very well three years ago, but she at least ought to remember how difficult it is to confess something like this.  
  
I'd go on ranting a bit more, as I'm prone to do, but there's something very important to record. The Hebridean Blacks at Rowena's River really must be herded back to their homeland, and Hagrid's been asked to do so.   
  
Hagrid agreed, of course, he hissed it to us in Care of Magical Creatures and told us to visit him later and then explained it all. I couldn't go, because of the Great Masquerade (as Ron dubbed it), but the boys did and repeated the news to me.  
  
They say he's thrilled, absolutely over the moon. I guess, considering his love of dragons and all, he would be, since he gets to fly on a broomstick for several days on end with a herd of dragons. He's even doubly happy because they're being sent to Charlie's dragon reservation (well, it's not Charlie's, but he works there) - where Norbert is!   
  
"Hagrid says Charlie says Norbert's huge now," Harry said, "even though in dragon terms he's still a juvenile. Hagrid's sure he'll recognise him, even so."  
  
"He's in a daze," Ron grinned. "Apologised 'cause the muffins were undercooked. Actually, they were just right for once, edible and all."  
  
"Ron," I chastised. "You needn't pick on him; cooking just isn't his area."  
  
"I'm just kidding, Hermione! Anyway, he's dead excited… leaving first thing tomorrow. We'll be stuck with Grubby-Plank and Fl… the two others," he amended quickly, looking embarrassed as he said her name. Fleur. Fleur. What a stupid name that is, anyway. Why name your child Fleur? It even looks silly when you spell it.  
  
"You don't look happy," Harry pointed out quietly.   
  
"I'm… I'm happy for Hagrid, I know this'll be the experience of a lifetime for him, and no one deserves it more, but… it's a little dangerous," I said at last, a deep feeling of doom in my stomach.   
  
Ron burst out laughing. "Does he ever do anything that _isn't_? It'd be a great disappointment to him if he did anything tame and safe!"  
  
I had to smile fondly as well but continued: "Honestly… to Romania… that's hundreds of kilometers… all open air… on a broomstick, right?" They nodded. "Not only might the dragons turn on him, well… fatigue… that's a long ride…"  
  
"They're doing it in legs," Ron explained. "Hagrid's not the only one going, some others'll be there - Charlie knows most of them. Some'll rest at turns and camp behind while the others fly, then catch up and let the others have a break, and even the dragons won't fly that nonstop…"  
  
"Still, not only that," I cried, a little panicky. "I mean, those dragons… _someone_ killed their keepers, kept them, set them loose… I bet my life it was Death Eaters. They probably like the fact the Ministry is one the noose trying to keep them safe and secret from Muggles now, if they go to Romania, the problem's solved… what if the Death Eaters try to make sure they don't get there? It sounds like a diversionary tactic to me."  
  
"What exactly do you know about diversionary tactics?" Harry asked.   
  
I gave him a hard look. "I've been friends with a Seeker star how long? And five years trying to survive the twins? Trust me, I know a diversion when I see one. What I'm saying is that no one escorting the dragons away is going to be a great person in their eyes… and hasn't Hagrid been helping Dumbledore? I'm sure, all in all, he's really popular with the Dark Side."  
  
"Exclusive club, that is," Ron pointed out.  
  
"Stop cracking jokes; this is serious."  
  
"I'm worried, too, but we can't sit here twiddling our thumbs the whole time," Ron said matter-of-factly. "I doubt it'd be too easy to hurt Hagrid, since nothing else seems to have done it yet."  
  
That true, and a welcome relief. I still plan on being worried, however. I wish I could run down and visit him. Stupid Society! If it weren't for them I could do so freely… but I really don't want them to get any ideas on whom to hurt. I wish I had remembered to write a note for Ron and Harry to give him. But I'll just have to follow Ron's advice and stop worrying. If I get this worked up every time someone who I care about is in danger, I might be worrying a bit too much, considering the minor fact that we _are _in the middle of a deadly war.  
  
  
February 23  
  
Charlie sent Ron a quick note this evening, simply stating that Hagrid's flight had started off beautifully, all was going well so far, that Hagrid would probably reach Romania and back within a little over a week, and all the dragons seemed to have accepted him and the other "shepherds" readily. (It sounds funny to call them shepherds when their sheep are anything but sheep!) Everything was going right as rain, in other words.   
  
There was also a beautiful snapshot "his friend Josie" had taken.  
  
"Charlie's girlfriend…" Ron murmured.  
  
"Is she?"   
  
"He mentioned her a good bit over Christmas, I'd guess so." He chuckled.  
  
That reminded me - I asked: "So where exactly did you go over Christmas?"  
  
"Oh, that, sorry, forgot you didn't know."  
  
"Well, I don't know, and why didn't you take Harry?" My voice was a little stern.   
  
Ron winced. "We wanted to, trust me… see, we were going to. Dad had to meet with some Ministry members on their holiday to discuss his plans against the Dark Side. We were going to meet them on a Christmas trip to Wales. Well, Dumbledore and Mum had arranged for us to take Harry, I think, but then at the eleventh hour…" He shook his head with an incredulous smile. "You won't believe this, but Percy invited us to a special resort in Wales."  
  
"Whatever for?" I asked.  
  
"Trust me, Hermione, that's what _all _of us asked! He got snappy with us and asked why on earth he couldn't just treat his very favourite family to a nice Christmas? Hermione, it was expensive, I couldn't believe it. Percy was always so tightfisted with what he earned over at the Ministry - and it's not like he earns a whole lot. Well, he didn't tell us to bring friends. He got really red when we brought that up later and promised next time he would let us invite whoever we wanted. He was acting really weird."  
  
"How so?" I asked worriedly, remembering how I had thought last year about how he might react to Crouch's death, and whom he might side with, the Ministry or his family.  
  
"Just… not like Percy. That holiday, let's say. That's all the pay he must've saved for a year now! He never spends like that. And he spent a lot of time asking us about what we were doing at school, what was going on. Asking _us _questions - usually it's all him, him, him. And the Ministry and flimsy-bottomed cauldrons. It's like he's gone through a total transformation. And then…"  
  
Ron trailed off, frowned, and continued: "This was the really odd thing. The night of Christmas - not Christmas Eve, but the one after that, actual Christmas Night - we had been drinking hot chocolate and about ready to go to bed… it was really snowy that night… so we all went up to bed. Percy gave us all a good-night hug and said he had to write a few Ministry things, he'd be up soon… well, that sounded like Percy. The next morning, Ginny woke up really early and found a note from us, saying that he loved us. Percy was gone."  
  
"Goodness!"  
  
"Yeah, I thought something like that, too. Mum and Dad ran out straightaway. They found him outside in a snow bank, half-frozen… brought him back inside, thawed him… nearly yelled him to death, Mum was seeing red and crying, she was so worried… he seemed sort of flat. Like he was frustrated, but mostly just rather blank."   
  
"Oh. My. Goodness. Ron, that's terrible, that's _suicide_!"   
  
"Yeah, well. Fred said about the same thing. He and George charmed his pillow so it played the March of Death when he slept after that." He snickered at the memory.   
  
My mouth hung open. "Ron _Weasley_! Your very own _brother _is suicidal, probably confused to no end about this pull between what his family wants of him and what the Ministry of Magic wants of him, and all you and those twins can do is_ laugh_ at him!"  
  
"Well, it was rather funny…" He caught my eye and added quickly: "Oh, you're right though, completely awful of us, I know."   
  
"How's Percy look?" I asked sternly.  
  
"Beat. Ministry's got him running in circles, Dad says."  
  
I sighed and shook my head.   
  
But then I looked back down at Josie's picture. It's lovely. It's just as Hagrid first got into the air on his broomstick (a Timberboom or something). The sky backdrop was a perfect beautiful clear blue, a few streamy white wisps of clouds here and there, and the picture showed the cold air's brilliance. The Hebridean were taking flight at the same time as well - unraveling their huge bodies into the air, stretching and twisting gracefully, dazzling purple eyes alert. And Hagrid, in the middle of it all on that broom, moving rather dragon-like himself, with this expression of pure bliss. The whole picture is just breathtaking. My fears were greatly assuaged - something as beautiful as that can't be ruined. Well, it can be, but probably not.   
  
On the other hand, I was getting very worried about Percy. Did he really almost commit _suicide_, or is Ron just exaggerating again?  
  
  
25 February  
  
Since the Society hadn't done anything more to bother me lately than to send a few notes and charmed my books to sing when I open them, Harry suggested we stage a fight tomorrow to provoke them into remembering me. I wouldn't have thought of doing anything to incur harassment just a few days ago, but Ron reminded me about what information I might get from spying.   
I wanted to point out we had no one to give that information to, but decided to cross that bridge when I came to it. We're staging a fight for tomorrow in the Great Hall; I'm going to trip Ron and we'll get into a huge mess. I refused to let Harry get involved when the Dark Side wanted his skin so much to begin with.   
Ginny's going to be furious when I trip her brother, however. True to her word, she doesn't show any hostility toward me whatsoever and is icily polite when we talk. But she is obviously still angry with me, and I'm frustrated with her, although I feel I deserve parts of it.  
  
26 February  
  
Sara Blustovadk and I were assigned to the same cauldron today in Potions. I think Snape deliberately wanted to torture one or both of us.   
  
I practically wanted to shout at her: "Honestly, Blustovadk, don't touch a thing and let me do it!" Potions is not her favourite subject, to put it lightly, and she couldn't tell a beetle from a cockroach if her life depended on it.   
  
When Snape came by and hissed to her: "Six tonight", I thought he was giving her a detention. Then I remembered how she often disappeared in the evenings and looked at her curiously. "What's that about?" I asked bluntly.  
  
She glanced at me warily, trying to dice an ingredient evenly and failing. "We're going to make passionate love," she replied sarcastically.  
  
"Excuse me for wanting a straight answer. Do you ever answer anything without sarcasm?"  
  
"Yes." She pounded once rather sharply and continued very low under the cover of an argument between Ron and Malfoy, "The boys know about the Society?"  
  
I gave her a warning look and nodded very discreetly.  
  
"I'll shut up. Fine, you answered my question, I'll answer yours, since _some_ people trust you for some reason. I meet with one of the teachers every week for, well, training, I'd guess you'd call it."  
  
"It's _called_ 'training'. So what is it?"  
  
"It's getting hands-on experience for the behind-the-scenes duties of instructing." She paused, looked at me. I stared. "I don't have any guardians who'll pay for my schooling here and no money of my own. Dumbledore offered a very kind agreement where I'd finish my years here and teach."  
  
Blustovadk looked completely depressed. I was wildly jealous. "And what's so wrong with getting a teaching position at Hogwarts! That'd be fantastic."  
  
Sara made a face. "For you, maybe. I'm not looking forward to having all my old classmates call me 'Professor'. And what if it's the Defence position? I'll die. I couldn't heal a wound or drive off anyone or thing to save my life." She cut off abruptly and reddened. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain, especially not to you."   
  
"What'd you want to do other than teach?"  
  
"Play Quidditch. Sounds terrible, doesn't it? I know, I'm awfully ungrateful. But tonight it's with Snape. How much of this do I put into the potion?"  
  
We finished the class with few more arguments about our work. Then I asked about her family.   
  
"My parents died when I was little," she shrugged. "I… I don't remember much about them. I don't know what their name was, or mine surname. I lived with my grandfather a little while… he died too." She paused. "They didn't like me very much."  
  
"Why ever not?"  
  
"I think I remember them saying… that I was too much like my uncle."  
  
I grinned involuntarily, although secretly I was feeling a touch of empathy. "What was so wrong with him?"  
  
She shrugged again. "Apparently he did something terribly disgraceful. And I was too much like him. Who knows that I might have done the same thing he did, turned out the same way, I suppose? Mr. Blustovadk of the Ministry of Magic adopted me. I took his name. He died in my fourth year."  
  
"And," drawled someone behind us, "you have us to thank for the fact you're alive now."  
  
It was Malfoy. Sara forced a neutral face. "'Morning, Draco. Oughtn't you working, not eavesdropping?"   
  
He smirked. "What a sad, lovely story, _Blustovadk_."  
  
"If you enjoyed," she shrugged.   
  
"I did. Tell on."  
  
"The Malfoys were kind enough to take me in the past few years," Blustovadk finished blandly.   
  
"_And_ keep you from Hogwarts!" I cried, furiously. "What's that, Malfoy, I suppose you needed a new house-elf? Had to put Secrecy Spells on her so Dumbledore couldn't find her?"  
  
Then I realised how loud I had been.   
  
"Honestly… yeah," Draco smiled maliciously.   
  
A murmur of talk broke out. "…were they talking about Sara?" "What about the Malfoys?" "Isn't that against the law?" "Did they use her as a _servant_?"  
  
"Settle down," Snape ordered lightly. "Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat. Miss Blustovadk, sad and sweet though your life story may be, perhaps you could re-tell it and we'll fetch you a crying towel some other time."  
  
Sara turned to our potion, face burning red as Slytherins snickered and Gryffindors were squirming in sympathy. When class was dismissed she turned to me with a horrible glare and half-scowl. "You couldn't've said that any more _loudly_, Hermione?" she snapped.   
  
"Well, you weren't exactly quiet when you noticed my dealings with the Society," I retorted. "You don't think it wasn't embarrassing for me to have all the prefects know of that, and to have them think I can't stand up for myself?"   
  
She turned without another word, and I realised what my words sounded: As if I had set up that entire scene just to get revenge for her telling Dean and Leila about the Society. Which, in any case, I don't care whether she thinks so or not. I didn't mean to say anything so distinctly, and she needn't have gotten so worked up over it.   
  
**Criticism... praise... death threats... marriage proposals... **


	19. Some Poetical Justice

Chapter Twenty: Some Poetical Justice  
  
27 February  
  
Oh no. I am not starting this nonsense again.  
  
Didn't I give one of my firm *solemn vows* last year that I'd never do this again, this stupid fancying that I was in love, this idiocy where I wondered if perhaps some people were right and Ron and I were – and I snort – "meant to be"?  
  
It's annoying, that's what it is, but you just can't suppress this! I'm getting those silly feelings again, only it's… different. It's not the giggly sort of don't-let-him-know thoughts I had last year, the manipulations and stupid daydreams that I covered from the world. This has turned into a more solid, sure conviction that just won't *leave*!  
  
I wish we hadn't staged that fight; it trigged all this whimsical fluttering of the stomach. No, I wish it was just whimsical fluttering of the stomach! Instead, it's deeper, it's something so strong I just can't escape it, and it's *aggravating*!  
  
See, we did exactly what we had planned at dinner today. Ginny was there, so I knew I would have to just ignore her, but luckily Sara, who was still furious, was on her date with Snape – one less problem. Parvati and Lavender were deep in a conversation about the latest issue of *Teen Witch Weekly*, and Dean and Seamus were out of the Hall already with some big plan, and Neville was… well, you don't see Neville around very often, lest of all since he started dating Cho.  
  
The first part of the skit went off perfectly. Ron and I made some changes to the "script" to perfect it, so Ron tripped *me* instead. I suggested it so Ginny wouldn't strangle me, but I told him it was because the Slytherins would be more sure that he was as furious with me and I with him.  
  
I trip and fall. So far, so good.  
  
I pull myself up from the ground and turn to Ron, shouting something or another. Well, I know exactly what I yelled, but it sounds hopelessly immature on paper, so I don't want my grandchildren to read this and have such a poor opinion of me.  
  
Ron sneered something in reply, rather loudly, something I would record (why, my grandchildren shall have a poor opinion of him *anyway*, between the rest of this diary and if Ron is still alive then) but it makes me feel really, really low, even if I know he didn't really mean it.  
  
This sort of circular dialogue goes back and forth a few more times when my next line comes, when I was supposed to swat at Ron (I planned to miss him, but if I did hit, Ron told me it didn't matter if it was a hard swing or not, saying if I could take it from the Slytherins he could take it for me) and shout: "I *detest* you and hope you *die*, Weasley!"  
  
So I take a hard swing at him, and open my mouth to deliver the line just as Ron, despite his words, stiffens and moves his face away, dodging the blow out of reflex, and all the sudden I was looking into those brown eyes, his familiar face… and I realised that I wanted to protect him, just as much as I ever wanted to protect my parents, just as much as Harry and Ginny.  
  
*And I couldn't say it.*  
  
How on earth could I possibly say that? That was beyond lying; that was denying one of the Great Truths of Life, put quite dramatically. I forced my mouth around the words, or at least tried, but they did not move.  
  
Ron's eyes turned from innocent and… well, deep, or whatever the word to describe them would be – to frantic. The Hall was greatly silent, waiting for our fight to continue – rather excited to hear what I'd say, in fact. His eyes egged me on, reminded me to say something…  
  
But I could not, just could not, say I detested him and hoped he would die.  
  
"I think you're an attention-starved *prat*!" I yelled lamely, although it didn't seem to arouse suspicion (but probably wasn't as satisfying to our spectators as what they'd hope I would have said, or "I detest you and hope you die, Weasley", but why am I trying to please a crowd who enjoys watching two people fight, anyway?)  
  
We finished up the shouting match and ignored each other the rest of the night. Now we must be very careful to not see anyone let us meet, and so will probably avoid each other a few days until we're positive we're safe. I'll miss them (although it's very nice to know they understand). I'm just worried they might ask why I didn't follow the makeshift script. I guess I'll just have to tell the truth – I couldn't bring myself to say it.  
  
29 February  
  
It worked, all right. I was yet again cornered by the Society (isn't "cornered" an ugly word?) But this time, with the plan of gathering information in mind, I didn't feel nearly as frightened as was usual. In fact, I felt an irrational sort of calm.  
  
The Society and I have entered a certain circular way of verbal and mental sparring. See, as I discovered today, the problem is that they are not quite sure whether I really do now detest Ron and Harry and Ginny (I've got to get out of the habit of putting Ron's name first), or whether I'm just staging this. This is an obstacle for them, especially when I'm saying very loudly (and I think convincingly) I wish they'd save me the trouble and go ahead and kill them. They are not sure whether harming them would be a good or a bad thing as far as I am concerned.  
  
Meanwhile, I'm just as wary, not knowing if they are leaning toward one belief or another more. I don't want to egg them on to hurting the others too badly, or they just might do it; yet I want them to believe I don't care. So now there's a little less beating and a lot more interrogation on their part, with severe punishments when I annoy them, which is often. (I'm very proud of myself for annoying soon-to-be Death Eaters.)  
  
So therefore today I didn't get a great deal of useful information. I couldn't seem to glean anything that might help. I hope when I discuss it with Ron tomorrow that he has an idea on how to provoke them into saying the right things. With such a large family, he ought to be an expert with this sort of thing.  
  
What I did find out was something Baddock said – he mentioned "not having Drothl around very much longer". This was when Peterson was saying "Drothl'll cover for us". I assume Baddock is saying to not get dependant on Drothl.  
  
The fact that Drothl is in the league with them doesn't come as a great surprise, but a little worrisome all the same. Dumbledore ought to know about this, but whenever we try to get the password, Professor McGonagall gets irritated and heads us off. We'll have to find some way to relay this information and quickly.  
  
30 February  
  
Today during –  
  
This morning –  
  
I can't believe this –  
  
How could someone do this to –  
  
I'm sad –  
  
There's no way to write this. It can't be transferred to a diary.  
  
3 March  
  
I thought that perhaps there was the faintest chance that, given time, this just might be easier to write.  
  
All that's happened in three days is that it's finally *real* to me, and that there's now things that are both awful *and* numerous to record – so many that the thought of writing it all scares me. I've never been this scared of a quill (or pen). I've been working out thoughts in my head, vaguely with the intention of putting them in my diary, but sitting down and doing it…  
  
What my heart wants to do is make a big philosophical statement, an eulogy of sorts, since I doubt he has one (well, okay, he does, but I swear it won't be good unless Dumbledore writes it). What my cold mind wants to do is write this the proper way.  
  
I'll listen to my mind. It doesn't hurt as much.  
  
The news came to me yesterday at lunch. And oh, boy, did it ever come. It seems a dozen people wanted to be the first to tell us three, and they all got there within a few minutes of each other.  
  
Seamus waved Ron, Harry, and me over to him at lunch, while we were still tired from a long Potions session with Snape, looking very worried and shaken. "Oy! Harry – Ron –" He hesitated and then sort of sneered: "Hermione, too. McGonagall wants to see you lot pronto."  
  
I pretended to make a big fuss about going with the boys, but we were heading to her office when an owl swooped down with a letter for Harry.  
  
"It's Snuffles."  
  
"Not now," I said to him, apprehensive about what McGonagall was about.  
  
"Stick it in your pocket before someone sees," Ron advised.  
  
Harry grimaced in frustration and did so. Then Percy, of all people, turned up and rushed over to us, breathless.  
  
"Ron – Harry – Hermione – listen –"  
  
"Not now, Perce, McGonagall wants to chew us off," Ron replied, and then suddenly seemed to remember that it wasn't everyday you saw Percy around. "What're you doing here?"  
  
Percy was still panting. He seemed to have been running nonstop for some time. "Last – Last night – letter – from last night –"  
  
"We've gathered it's from last night, Perce," Ron replied.  
  
"Listen a moment! I need to tell you this – privately –"  
  
"After McGonagall. Come on," Ron waved a hand, indicating us to follow.  
  
"One would think you had a fancy for McGonagall or something, the way you're so eager to get to her," Percy snapped irritably.  
  
Harry's and mine jaws dropped and we exchanged incredulous glances. Since when did Percy Weasley make remarks like that? Then I laughed slightly.  
  
Ron looked a little nonplussed as well. "Erm…"  
  
Then Malfoy has to stick his pencil-pointy face into everything by coming straight over to Harry. "Hey, Potter," he sneered, and went through the entire "Scarhead" routine, before dropping the bomb, despite all of Percy's attempts to quiet him.  
  
"Your little – well, not little – giant friend is dead."  
  
Malfoy said something else, but I don't remember it. White swirling mist seemed to settle in my head like a crystal ball. Hagrid. Hagrid was dead. No. No, he couldn't. Hagrid couldn't die. Hagrid was going to see Norbert. Hagrid was our friend. Hagrid was dead…  
  
I couldn't wrap my mind around it. The concept simply refused to make itself believed. It was *impossible*… but hadn't I worried it would happen?  
  
I couldn't speak, and apparently the boys couldn't either. Even if I had been able to make my mouth open properly, I could not have found a thing to say. Ron's and Harry's face mirrored mine, stricken.  
  
Percy's lips were pressed tight in frustration and anger. "Malfoy, that was unnecessary."  
  
Malfoy looked up at him… only it didn't look as if Malfoy was speaking up to Percy at all. "Oh, really. What're you going to do, Weasley?"  
  
"Quit it…" I murmured, feeling paralysed. "Please, just quit it, I don't want to hear it…" My voice was on the shaky edge of tears.  
  
"No…" Ron whispered, and then, more loudly: "No! Perce – Perce, how could – no –"  
  
"It's – It's true, Ron," Percy said, and you could tell it was killing him to have to say that. "You shouldn't have found out that way – Ron – Ron!" Ron glanced up, having been in a sort of trance. "Char – Charlie CommuFired me this morning… Ron, please don't fall on me!  
  
"Monster."  
  
This hiss was from guess-who.  
  
Harry turned to face Malfoy sharply, eyes practically shooting fire. That's when Professor McGonagall came and prevented any bloodshed by sending Malfoy to Snape (it angered me that Malfoy would get off scott- free) and leading us to her office.  
  
"P-Professor… may I – may I take Ron?" Percy asked hesitantly, eyes wide, as if knowing the reaction that would greet his inquiry.  
  
We stared at him, and Ron looked uncertain a moment, before turning to McGonagall as well. "Can I?"  
  
McGonagall seemed a little caught off guard. "Not 'can I', it's 'may I', Weasley," she corrected absently, and then continued gently: "Yes, I suppose so. Percy, you are responsible for him. Ron, you are excused from your next class, but mind you make up your work."  
  
Ron came back to us that afternoon, still looking shocked but calmer. Meanwhile, she ushered Harry and I inside and talked more softly than I had ever heard her.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to find out that way… Hagrid did die this morning; I don't have all the details yet – I know you were very fond of him…" To my numb amazement, McGonagall excused herself, turned away, and blow her nose in a handkerchief. "It was hard not to be, wasn't it?" she asked chokily.  
  
I felt like glaring at her. Why was she speaking in past tense? It was only then that this began to sink in. Hagrid *was* dead…  
  
It was still too hard to believe.  
  
She continued on about funeral arrangements and such (I wanted to downright *slap* her – looking back on it, poor Professor McGonagall, receiving this sort of abuse just for being the messenger of bad news) before finally excusing us. Harry left in a daze, and I forgive him wholeheartedly for not noticing when I didn't follow him. I felt paralysed in my chair.  
  
"Miss Granger, you may leave now…"  
  
Leave? Not a chance. The next thing I remember doing is laying my head down on her desk and starting to cry uncontrollably. This may have lasted a good few ten minutes. I think it stopped when McGonagall stroked my hair. This was so astounding that I managed to swallow my next few sobs, although then of course I choked and was in desperate need for water.  
  
I've written billions of "and then the nearest and dearest died" scenes in my fiction writing before, and it always had a strange, tragic allure to it. I've even liked to hear about other real-life experiences of this. Not anymore. There is nothing fairy talelish about death, and there is not a shred of poetic justice comfort in Hagrid's.  
  
All during class, when I think I'm beginning to concentrate, awful thoughts suddenly occur to me. Such as in Astronomy, it hit me that Hagrid had never even seen Norbert once more before he died. I started crying silently all over again, but the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors pretended not to notice.  
  
Dumbledore gave a short speech to the school about Hagrid the morning after his death, but I didn't hear it. I was heading down when Lavender asked Sara and Parvati: "Aren't you coming?"  
  
"No," Parvati said flatly, falling on her bed stubbornly.  
  
"All those Slytherins are going to be sniggering over Hagrid and I'm going to lose control and hex them all into next month," Sara growled, snatching a copy of *Six Ashwinder Eggs* and reading with such fury I knew she barely understood the words.  
  
This made good sense to Lavender and I, and we agreed instantly, without words, to stay until breakfast had started as well.  
  
The Society for Purity has a rest. Probably, I've decided, celebrating or plotting, because they have their heads together in huddles, talking in low voices. I'm almost glad I can't overhear them. I'd snap and slap them all.  
  
Fleur and Grubby-Plank have taken over Care of Magical Creatures. We need two teachers with the Gryffindor/Slytherin classes. I'm sure there would be casualties if the two weren't watching over us.  
  
Oh, before I close this, we read Sirius's letter. He, of course, had been trying to tell us about Hagrid as well. He also wants to see us next Hogsmeade visit. Unless anything happens that signals danger, our next visit is on the 15th.  
  
5 March  
  
I was able to go the funeral, along with some of the other students who got permission from parents and staff. I don't like writing about funerals…  
  
Madame Maxime was there, silent and vacant-eyed. It was so stifling inside that later I stepped outside. I was sick of seeing those sneers. If those people didn't care for Hagrid, they shouldn't have been there. I hated them. I despised them. Other than the sneerers and Madam Maxime, the funeral is awfully fuzzy.  
  
She was sobbing uncontrollably in the garden outside of the Respects Home.  
  
"M-Madame Maxime?" I asked hesitantly. I had seen her inside, of course (hard not to) as she had accompanied Fleur. French witches are still a little old-fashioned when it comes to unmarried women…  
  
I expected her to be regal and bitingly civil and dismissive at being caught crying. Instead, she looked up at me. "Should I know you?" (only she said it in that unwritable French accent).  
  
"I'm a Hogwarts student. I remembered you from last year… I was a friend of Hagrid's," I said quietly, uncertain.  
  
Maxime had quieted when we began to talk, but at the sound of Hagrid's name the tears ran down faster.  
  
"Do you need anything? – I… I won't mention this to anyone, of course. I don't expect you'd like anyone to know."  
  
She looked at me (even sitting, she was taller than me) with red eyes. "What's your name?"  
  
"Hermione Granger."  
  
That started her off again, silently. "Hagrid" ('Agrid) "mentioned you over the summer… always told of that clever girl… was so proud to know you… trusted you so much…"  
  
I sat down on the bench next to her and kept quiet, letting her have her cry out.  
  
"I was such a fool," she said brokenly, bitterly, after a few moments. "…wouldn't even consider it. After he said that, I refused to even be friendly with him – left as soon as possible, didn't owl him like we had planned – I couldn't be seen having a known half-giant gameskeeper flirting with me… You know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hagrid was the first person in a long time who listened to me, really listened to me… I have never realised how alone I was for so many years, driven by ambition – he was the first friend I have possessed in a long while…"  
  
Suddenly she stopped and hugged me tightly. "Thank you so much. I deeply regret if I had caused Hagrid any pain. I would not be surprised if you hated me…"  
  
"No. No, I don't." Not anymore, in any case. I had suddenly seen a different sort of Maxime – a woman so determined to overcome her own bloodline that she had long since forgotten how to feel love and friendship. Before we parted, I screwed up the courage to ask: "What did you mean when you said you 'wouldn't consider it'? He didn't ask you to – to –"  
  
"No, no." She smiled, shaking her majestic head. "But I saw he might. The day I stopped being companionable with him – it was the day he asked me to call him 'Rubeus'."  
  
I gaped at first, and then cried all over again.  
  
7 March  
  
Harry went berserk today. He and Ron were wandering aimlessly around outside, taking a break from studying (one of far too many!) and enjoying the spring that has settled over the grounds. I was curled up with my own studies under a tree near Hagrid's cabin. Speaking of which, Harry says Dumbledore is not going to take it down or move it – "It's a part of Hogwarts, indeed, a part many of us have held dear."  
  
That's when Malfoy comes over. Since the breeze was favourable for eavesdropping (it seems this is my new talent), I heard every word. I don't even want to write them. Let's just say he was mouthing off, as usual, rubbing it in about Hagrid's death.  
  
Ron and Harry had their fists clenched, but Ron was remaining silent, for once. I think he had some sort of plan for our spying. But when after three minutes by my watch, Malfoy remarked that it was better that we were rid of that bloodthirsty murdering monster anyway –  
  
Harry snapped. I had glanced up in anger at Malfoy's words and was just in time to see Harry lunge forward, tackle Malfoy to the ground, and then start to thoroughly beat Malfoy up. I was horrified. I never imagined Harry, of all people, to start hurting anyone so badly (unless of course they were evil, what I mean is he'd never hurt anyone just out of annoyance). He punched and kicked and swung and slammed and shoved Malfoy's head into the ground. Ron held Crabbe off from returning Harry the favour.  
  
I pretended not to see and went back to my work, although my stomach was twisting. Suppose Harry got expelled? No, they'd never do that to the Boy Who Lived, and if I did, the Society would be awful upset, maybe enough to finally carry out their threats. Still, it did look as if Harry would kill him.  
  
Eventually someone saw this and ran for McGonagall, who arrived in a fury and separated them with a rather painful-looking levitation charm. She didn't even start to yell. Malfoy was sent straight to the hospital wing, a complete mess of dirt and blood. (How fitting, I reflected smugly.) Harry was sent straight to Dumbledore, a mess of tears inspired by rage and grief.  
  
McGonagall came over to me and demanded why I didn't stop this or get her sooner.  
  
"Malfoy is seriously injured."  
  
"It was about Hagrid," I said flatly.  
  
"Malfoy could have died."  
  
"I didn't notice it, Professor," I said, tight-jawed. McGonagall took fifteen points from Gryffindor.  
  
Harry lost a few more points than I did and received two detentions. I was amazed he got off so easily. He was no longer crying when he entered the common room, but from the look on his face, I wished he was.  
  
"That was very foolish, Harry, and –" I began.  
  
"Be quiet, Hermione," he snapped. "Malfoy had it coming to him. I can't stand him. How dare the little…" Then Harry did another thing I never thought he would. He proceeded to call Malfoy every unrepeatable thing under the sun. I never though I'd see the day he was swearing. Then he added what he would have liked to do to Malfoy.  
  
"The first one is impossible, the second one is very expensive and requires a lot of skill, I don't even want to think about the third one, and the fourth sounds very painful," Sara spoke up. Just as Harry shot her a poisonous glare reminiscent of Snape himself, she added: "I'm so glad you gave him what-for. Words cannot express how satisfying that is. I want someone to do it again tomorrow. And the day after."  
  
Cheers of agreement from most of the Gryffindors.  
  
8 March  
  
Something is to be said for the way Blustovadk can spread her fierce enthusiasm around. Today about twenty of us, from all Houses (including Chelsea Smythe from Slytherin) showed up when Harry was five minutes into his detention, which was cleaning out the dusty broomshed by hand, no magic, and demanded to be allowed to help.  
  
McGonagall turned us away at first, but then we hung around so long that she relented, claiming it was only because she had a headache, and we all grabbed rags and polish and set to work.  
  
"I was thinking about the first time I had ever met Hagrid," Harry told me as we swept cobwebs off the walls. "He gave me my Hogwarts letter…"  
  
I looked at him in surprise. He continued: "He had been sending these forever, but the Dursleys kept getting at them, and, of course, when they knew what they were, they didn't allow me to so much as breath on one." He laughed and related a morning where hundreds of them flew through the chimney. "It was brilliant. Uncle Vernon got so spooked that he packed us all up and drove all down the motorway the entire day… Dudley was whimpering and Aunt Petunia didn't dare say anything, and I just wanted to know who was writing to me. We ended up on this tiny little island in a miserable old hut, no fire, no food – worth speaking of… middle of the night.  
  
"I was counting down to my birthday on that hideous old neon watch of Dudley's when Hagrid knocks on the door, and Dudley wakes and asks where the cannon is!" Harry laughed heartily, yet sadly, at the memory. "And in comes Hagrid, taking the door off of the hinges and ordering Dudley off the couch… he turned Dudley into a pig, later."  
  
I stared. "No. No."  
  
"Yes, yes. It was brilliant! Only it didn't work right, so Dudley only got a tail. I wonder what the doctors at that private hospital in London said when they saw that. The Dursleys took him there to get it off…"  
  
"Probably 'Shall we don white coats?' in toneless voices of numb shock," I suggested, grinning as well – I couldn't help it.  
  
"He was the first person ever – that I remember – to show he cared about me," Harry said, so quietly he was speaking to himself.  
  
You wouldn't believe what happened when Lisa Turpin overheard our whispered conversation. I was annoyed – it was awfully personal – but she didn't reveal the contents to everyone. Instead, she said: "I remember when I was in a huge fight with my roommates. I was wandering around outside and Hagrid found me and invited me into that cabin of his. I was scared at first, but I found he was just the nicest person… he made me feel so much better."  
  
"He saved my life once," Justin Finch-Fletchey said. "It was stupid of me, really, but someone had thrown my watch on that little bitty piece of land in the middle of the moat on the west side of the castle, and I had started to swim over to get it –"  
  
"You crazy?" Terry Boot demanded.  
  
"Sure sounds like it," Desmond Feth said.  
  
" – but anyway," Justin continued with great dignity, or as much as he could get on his knees scrubbing the floor, "my boots were too heavy and I started sinking, and if it hadn't been for Hagrid I would have drowned for sure."  
  
Naturally, we all had a Hagrid story to tell. Finally, some poetic justice did ensure. It was very novelish and romantic, as if it were a story, really, and by the end of it, we were nearly all crying, even a couple of the boys, but I, for one, felt ten times better. It was just wonderful to know that we all remembered such good things about him.  
  
"You know," Susan Bones said after telling her story about when he persuaded her not to give up Arthimancy, "I can remember all this great stuff about him now, but when he was… er, alive… all I could think of was his Blast-Ended Skwerts and such. Isn't it funny? They barely matter now."  
  
"We always see the good things of people after they're dead," Blustovadk agreed thoughtfully. "It's silly. When they're dead we ought to complain about them, since they can't hear, but when they're alive, we ought to tell them how much we appreciate them. Especially now, with the war and all."  
  
" 'Professor Sna-ape'," Fred began, with large, innocent eyes. " 'I want to tell you' –"  
  
"Excepting him," Des said quickly.  
  
"There's got to be something good about Snape," I said, thinking of the charm around my neck.  
  
"Yeah," Sara said dubiously. "But we're just learning. Let's stick with someone a bit more realistic… McGonagall, for instance."  
  
"She listens," Chelsea offered. "No snappy decisions with her. No favourism."  
  
It was amazing, some of the things we found. I remembered how Fleur had cried over her younger sister. Cho Chang noticed how Filch cares so deeply for that little beastly cat – "Well, he loves something". George made Ron's day (although he tried not to show it) by saying that Ron was almost the twins' equal with wit. Susan had something good to tell about Draco Malfoy – yes, Draco Malfoy – "He sticks up for Crabbe and Goyle."  
  
We stared at her.  
  
"What?" she demanded. "If he didn't, then I'd think there wasn't an ounce of decency in him, but at least he's loyal. And he socked a sixth- year boy in the mouth when he said something about Professor Lupin."  
  
Another awkward silence.  
  
"Who's Professor Lupin?" Sara asked, looking from one hesitant face to the next.  
  
"Taught Defence two years ago," Terry said glumly. "But he had to leave."  
  
"Of course he did," Justin sniffed. "He was a werewolf."  
  
I glared at Justin, but Cho spoke up instead: "Lupin's always been good to me – same as to the rest of us. He helped me train after my injuries, even though he was a Gryffindor supporter."  
  
That broke the ice enough for Susan to add her two cents, and then Terry, and then me, and then Harry, and then Fred, and then Des, and then Lisa. I made a mental note to tell Remus this.  
  
"While we're on former Defence teachers, I have one!" George spoke up brightly. "Professor Cato."  
  
The older students raised eyebrows while the rest of us looked at each other and shrugged.  
  
"Taught a year before you sixth-years, two before the fifth lot," George explained.  
  
"What did she do?"  
  
"Provided comic entertainment!"  
  
There were a lot of laughs. "That's not fair," Sara managed between gasps as Cato's old follies were dredged up. "She was nice."  
  
"You couldn't understand her – she spoke English," Fred explained to the rest of us, "but she was French, and had a bit of an accent." He snickered.  
  
"She spoke French with a heavy English accent," Sara agreed solemnly, causing more giggles. "She also taught me everything I know about Defence, so lay off."  
  
"I have one for Lockhart," Ron spoke up seriously. We glanced at him in surprise, and I felt shaky. If he told everyone about how I fancied him – well, let's just say he should count his blessings. Such as how black and blue doesn't clash with red hair. "He taught me how to love myself."  
  
"Yourself?" Harry quipped.  
  
"Yes. Next to him, I decided I was an upstanding and special citizen. And I also learned to not trust everything I read."  
  
"He taught me about the value of Tickling Water," Sara replied.  
  
"And that trolls are claustrophobic," Des smirked, "and that werewolves are allergic to pumpkin and have purple eyes, and that goblins cannot glide across any water except that which is found in the English channel without the aid of a bronze rowboat."  
  
Sara turned to him, innocently startled. "Why, Des, those were the things he was right about."  
  
By this time we had finished the broomshed, which was probably for the best, because our caring conversation was getting a little degrading. I'm still treasuring the more serious parts of it… although we were all laughing pretty heavily by the time we made our way up to the castle.  
  
9 March  
  
Woke up in the middle of the night after our shared detention. I had been replaying the conversation in the broomshed over in my head, still getting warm fuzzy feelings (I'm so hopelessly soft) when I got to one innocent remark and straightaway sat bolt upright in bed.  
  
"Who's Professor Lupin?" – what Blustovadk had asked. And then I realised something incredible. I don't know why I never saw it before. I guess I just never thought about the two of them in the same train of thought. But now that I did, I pictured both of them in my head – and Remus Lupin and Sara Blustovadk resemble each other beyond coincidence. They look almost exactly alike (well, with a few obvious differences). And the timeline for them is perfect.  
  
I hesitated a moment, but then slipped from our dormitory to the boys (and didn't get caught by some amazing fortune). Listening at the door, the boys didn't sound quite sound asleep – shuffling and snoring and tossing – so I lost my nerve. After staying awake a few more hours, unable to sleep, I got dressed and waited in the common room so I could talk to them first thing in the morning.  
  
I must have fallen asleep over The Arthimancy of Greater Milky Way, because it was Lee Jordan who found me in a little curled up ball on the armchair and awoke me the next morning. Impatiently, I signaled Ron and Harry to fall behind before sneaking into my empty dormitory, the two of them looking awkward yet excited at their whereabouts. Honestly.  
  
I had ordered Harry to bring his scrapbook. He was handling it tenderly. I remembered that Hagrid had put it together for him and got teary-eyed all over again.  
  
"I want to find a picture of Remus," I said without any sort of preamble.  
  
Harry blinked and exchanged a glance with Ron. "If you say so." We checked the wedding pictures first. Remus was in none of them – "Didn't they mention in their stories that Remus liked to take the pictures?" I asked – but even I loitered a little over the pictures. Harry's parents just looked so happy. I felt I knew them well from making Harry's little booklet, and very close to them.  
  
I have to admit, there was one picture with Sirius, and my heart nearly stopped a moment. He was drop-dead gorgeous.  
  
"What're you looking at?" Ron demanded, a little more harshly than normal.  
  
I pointed at the beaming Sirius on the page. "Harry has one good- looking godfather."  
  
Ron scowled. Harry grinned behind Ron's back at me.  
  
"He might be in one of the earlier pictures," Harry suggested, tactfully diverting the subject. "Any particular age?"  
  
"Oh, fifteen, maybe," I suggested with a smile.  
  
"What for?" Ron asked suspiciously.  
  
Then I remembered Sara was two years older. "Seventeen, I mean." Ron still looked skeptical. "There's Sirius again," he said, as casually as he could, as we flipped through the pages.  
  
In this picture, Sirius was maybe fifteen or sixteen, and not yet fully grown. He was cute, no doubt, but had an awkward look around him that he'd shed in a few years. "Goodness, he looks like he doesn't know what to do with his arms and legs," I said, just to pacify Ron. It seemed to work.  
  
Poor Ron. We finally discovered the one picture of Remus in the book – it was his fourteenth birthday (close enough, it turned out), and the reason it was included in the book was because Lily Evans was being tossed in the air by two girls, one of whom I vaguely registered must be Linda Lou Fairchild, James, and Remus. I forgot for a moment about Sara.  
  
"Who are you staring at now?" Ron asked heatedly.  
  
I reddened. "Remus – that is who I'm looking for, remember?" Truth was, Remus was an attractive teen, despite the fact that in this shot, since his birthday was 2 July, near a full moon, he had those pronounced circles around his eyes. But shoot me before I reveal that to Ron. I remembered why I had searched for this in the first place and examined him again, reminding myself sternly that both Sirius and Remus were about twenty years older to me and I was being silly.  
  
Blustovadk looked decidedly enough like Remus for my suspicions to be confirmed in my own mind. I relayed my theory that Sara was Remus's daughter to them eagerly, and they considered it for a moment.  
  
Harry looked shocked but intrigued. "Could be – this could be cool – how d'you think we could find out for sure?"  
  
"Er," Ron spoke up tentatively, "um, you, er, do remember how you, uh, get a baby, right?" There was a pink-faced silence as Harry and I remembered. "And, well, I don't have anything against Lupin, really, so don't look at me in that tone of voice, Hermione – I really don't – but, er, he isn't fully human…"  
  
"He could have children just the same," I said defencively.  
  
"Yeah, but we've only found that out just recently, right?" Harry pointed out. "I came across it in some book or another –"  
  
Ron looked at the two of his and pretended to groan, muttering: "More books!"  
  
" – it's only been researched in the past few years. And I don't see Remus doing, er, that if he thought there was any sort of risk."  
  
"True," I agreed, nodding, trying to figure if there was enough years for them to be second cousins or whatnot, when it hit me – when Sara said that her parents hated her because she looked exactly like her uncle, who had done something "apparently disgraceful".  
  
It all fit. Ron and Harry agreed on that score, when I told them what I was thinking now.  
  
"It's perfect," Ron nodded eagerly, "I'd bet Sara's parents ensured Lupin would be kept from contacting her –"  
  
"Oh, that shall be amended," I smiled. "Soon it'll be amended."  
  
We secretly sent a letter to Remus that very afternoon, asking him to meet us in the Great Hall Wednesday evening. And I absolutely cannot wait to tell him.  
  
But now I've just been thinking as I write this… if Sara Blustovadk is Remus's niece, and Remus is not only Sirius's best living friend but hiding him from the Ministry at his home, and Sirius is Harry's extremely devoted godfather, and I'm one of Harry's best friends… oh, joy. I thought goodness was supposed to be its own reward.  
  
Someone else is going to visit us soon, by the way – Charlie Weasley is coming on Tuesday, and says he has something important to tell us. We've figured it's about Hagrid, and I can only hope it's not something us terrible. I can't see what can be so dreadful – he is already dead – but I have a feeling things can always get worse.  
  
  
  
A/N: I am so incredibly sorry this is taking so long. Remember the good old days when I apologised if it took a *full* week? Yeah, I miss them, too. I was doing dishes on Thursday when I realised it had been a full month – and the last chapter took from the 13th to the 13th, too! *groans* So apologies again, but I plan to finish it this summer. In compensation, this is a long chapter – three pages longer than you usually get! I even braved the Word Document Format for this… so watch, the ** mean italics.  
  
A most, most, most sincere thanks to reviewers: Ayla Pascal, enoimreH, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Silent Onion, Sorensen, Tarawen, and Voltora  
  
I am so, so sorry for that. Would it help if I said I laid awake nights trying to screw up the nerve and wording to kill dear Hagrid? *pouts* That was extremely painful… darn plotline. *kicks stray can*  
  
If you are interested in the continuing plotline concerning Sara, and now Remus, you might want to check out "Longing to Fly", on this account page, which holds more hints on this.  
  
I've noticed while reading fanfic that sometimes I reach the end and want to review, but am not quite sure what to say. I've noticed while writing fanfic that sometimes I want opinions on specific things but no one mentions them. Trying to make life easier for everyone involves, I've instituted a poll at the end of most of my future chapters.  
  
This one is: Original Characters in "From the Diary of Hermione Granger – Year 5". And let's go beyond Sara, she gets too much attention in reviews as it is. I'm also looking at Skylark, Chelsea Symthe, Josie, John, Alyn, Hermione's parents and the Robertses, etc. and perhaps other characters that are canon that I've fleshed out. Any particular favorites? Any you think are unbelievable and stilted? Any that are just frankly annoying? Anyone you would like to see more of? Any comments are appreciated.  
  
Thanks again so much for your support. Words can't express that sort of gratefulness. 


	20. A Nond The Cave

**A/N: Hey, up in less than a month! That's becoming a record for this story... this one went quick, but I had to struggle with certain people who _couldn't keep their big mouths shut_ *coughCharlieRemusSiriuscough* Thanks again for your patience.  
  
Thanks and hugs to enoimreH, flamewing, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune, Mystical Dreams, Storm, Tarawen, UAngel, and Voltora for pushing this story along...   
  
Isabelle, let's just chalk it up to Hermione being too distraught to notice the "30 Feb." The thing I found really amusing is that none of us noticed that Feburary went straight to April! Went back and fixed that up, too.  
  
So, Chapter twenty: winding up both the Hagrid and the Sara plotlines for the time being, so we can inch along to more mysteries, the climax and action... **  
  
**Chapter Twenty: A Nond The Cave**  
11 March  
  
I think I can finally accept Hagrid's death now.  
  
Charlie, as I said, came to Hogwarts today. For the greater part of the morning he loitered around, chatted with just about everyone, and in the evening he joined a Gryffindor Quidditch practice, to everyone's great enjoyment. But it's what he told us this afternoon that I'm writing about.  
  
I've been thinking Hagrid's death had _no_ poetical justice to it. Well, it doesn't need any, I decided a few days ago, but we've found some.  
  
After our last class of the day, Charlie caught us in the corridors and motioned for us to come along. At first there was small talk about - oh, how maddeningly cliché! - weather. Yes, _weather_. And he asked us how school was going. Ron and Harry even played along! I felt like strangling the three of them.   
  
Finally, while we were wandering around the Gryffindor passageways, purposefully getting lost, Charlie abruptly quit his little sunshine talk. He broke from our group a bit and walked ahead, nervously twiddling his fingers and pacing a little. He looked rather uncomfortable when he was indoors. I think he prefers being outside, especially in difficult situations like this.   
  
"Hagrid," he finally managed at last, one full word.   
  
"We know about that, Charlie," Ron said in a depressed sort of tone.   
  
"Well, so do I. I…" Charlie swallowed. "… I saw him die."  
  
That sure caught our attention. Since human nature is instinctively morbid, all three of us looked up at him, tacitly encouraging him to go on.   
  
"And, well, I feel as if you three out to know - if you don't mind hearing it - "  
  
"Is it quite… gruesome?" I asked, not able to find a better word.  
  
"It's death, Hermione," he replied, and I felt rather stupid for a moment, "I'm not here to give you nightmares. Actually, it might help you to cope, I don't know."  
  
"Go on," Ron nodded.   
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Yes," Harry told him.   
  
"Well, alright - " Charlie cut off, smiled slightly, and shook his head. "I'm supposed to be assuring you lot, not the other way around. I'm sorry. Let me get a grip." After a deep breath, he began in earnest: "We had known Hagrid and one of our other men, D'Vatsky, were prime targets for Death Eaters, so when it was night and we were flying over a deserted or rural area, we would make sure they weren't alone. But they caught us off guard - Hagrid, Hagrid was on shift over one of the larger villages that morning.   
  
"Figuring no one would probably try to harm us here, with so many witnesses on a clear day, we let Hagrid and my partner Michael alone to field two of the dragons a little ahead of us - the two energetic ones; they wanted to spread their wings a bit." Charlie smiled wryly. "I meant the dragons, of course, although Hagrid and Mike were the same way.  
  
" I was further behind but ahead of the rest, trying to calm this one, Vilene - she's a temperamental one - when I saw a fiery sort of spell shoot into the air. When it happened a couple more times, I knew that it wasn't just a stray spell gone wrong - it was aiming for Hagrid, and I reckoned it was Dark Magic - and I was right about that.  
  
"Two of the spells hit Hagrid. It turned out that they were hexes to eat away the flesh - very painful, not pretty - but while they made him a little itchy, they didn't affect him, I reckon because he has giant blood and all. So…"   
  
Charlie took another deep breath and started talking fastly. "The Death Eaters seemed to realise that they weren't going to be able to hurt him, especially not from that distance, so they - they started aiming for the dragons. I recognised it as the Conjunctivitus Curse; we sometimes use it when they start flying about at the reservation and we want them to come down. They lose their eyesight and are so bemused that they crash to the ground - only then they're so upset that they'll get even more aggressive than usual.   
  
"Hagrid didn't know this, but Mike did, and I heard him call to him - 'Hagrid, it's a Conjunctivitus! It'll get them in the eye!' Hagrid somehow knew how this would affect them, I'm not sure how - "  
  
"Norbert," I said absently. The boys stared at me. "First year, remember? Hagrid was researching dragons…" They looked pained.  
  
"So," Charlie continued tightly, "they started shooting Conjunctivitus at one of the dragons, Porum. And since Hagrid knew what would happen - the Ministry told us before we left that if any dragons attacked a town, they'd be executed immediately, and you know Hagrid would have been devastated. I remember him saying to the official that he'd die before he let any of the dragons be killed. He… flew… he flew faster than I knew anyone could, really - started flying about in front of Porum as if he were a Keeper."  
  
"Playing Keeper in front of a fire-breathing dragon," Ron whispered in amazement.   
  
"They kept firing the curses. Eventually one of them was dead-on; it was heading straight for Porum's eye - "  
  
"And Hagrid blocked it," Harry whispered, sounding so stricken that I wanted to hug him.  
  
"No, that's the problem, he _didn't_ block it," Charlie said miserably. Porum was so angry that he let out of roar of fire, and - I told you, Hagrid was right in front of Porum's face. He was nearly burnt to a crisp. As it was, it was so bad that it's why his casket was covered at the funeral."   
His voice shook as he continued. "Mike and I abandoned our charges and flew over there. It's a wonder Vilene and Pandora didn't go off. We caught Hagrid before he quite hit the ground. Then we tried to calm Porum. You know, funny thing, after hearing Hagrid's cry - I'm afraid his last word was a scream - Porum was as quiet as anything. Almost if she were _mourning_."  
  
"Is it possible he knew?" Ron asked.  
  
Charlie was thoughtful. "Many animals can get so attached to a human that they do mourn when they die. I love dragons, you know, I think they're the most fascinating creatures on earth, but even though they're very intelligent, it doesn't seem quite _logical_ that Porum could have gotten to know Hagrid that quickly. After all, Hagrid worked with all the dragons, not just Porum… yet why else was Porum so unhappy after Hagrid died?"  
  
He sighed and brushed something invisible off of his leg. "All that I know is that Hagrid died because of love for a dragon, and that the Death Eaters intentionally killed him by using his love to their advantage. Some days it's a comfort; other days it's like rubbing salt in a wound. But I still think it might help you. There's been many a person who died at their hands who didn't have a scrap anything nice attached to their death to comfort anyone left behind."  
  
We were silent a while. Finally, Harry spoke up. "Thank you, Charlie."  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Ron said. (I know that sounds as if he was apathetic but he truly sounded sincere about his gratitude.)  
  
"I am glad to know that. Thank you," I told Charlie, as heartily as possible, because I knew that it must have been difficult for him to relive that morning.   
  
"Pass the word on," he asked us. "I think everyone should know that."   
  
We promised. I haven't told anyone just yet, but I will - because I'm immensely proud of Hagrid and want others to be as well.   
  
By the way, Charlie is offering a challenge to everyone: seven Weasley siblings will take on and defeat anyone in a Quidditch match. "Aren't there seven people in this school with guts?" he asked. When he pressed the Ravenclaws, Lisa Turpin used the excuse that everyone was too busy with the CC. All around, so far we have a gutless school.  
  
  
13 March  
  
It's four-thirty in the morning, which would be a fine time to recap Remus's reaction last night when we told him about Sara. No, I don't need to rest. Lately I've been so worried about everything that sleep is something that flees in terror whenever I show up.   
  
We met him in the Great Hall last night. Actually, he met us, because while we told him to arrive at seven, we were so full of anticipation that thought we were there at six-thirty. And then he actually had the gall to be five minutes late. I thought Ron when going to burst with impatience. Remus noted the expression on his face and smiled.   
  
"I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting. I've an extra-long letter here and wasn't allowed to leave until it was finished." To explain without words, he slipped Harry a letter in Sirius's now-familiar writing.   
  
"Snuffles a little over-zealous?" Harry asked knowingly.  
  
"As always." Remus was about to ask how we were doing, but Ron cut him off before the words were fairly out of his mouth:  
  
"Do you have a brother?"   
  
Remus blinked. "Well, yes, in fact." We stared at him silently until he fed us more information.** [A/N: Quite a handy way of garnering information, as every teenager knows.] **"Named Ritchie. He's dead now."  
  
"Have a good relationship?" I asked casually. "Get along well?"   
  
This had the effect of making Remus look uncomfortable. "Well, he was ten years older than me, really, so I wouldn't say we were very close." He nervously pushed his hair from his face.   
  
"Did he hate you?" Ron asked, very bluntly.  
  
Reflexively, Remus's hand went to his forehead, even though he had just moved his bangs aside. After realising this, he asked evenly: "Is there any particular reason that you want to know?" I've concluded that Remus is not the type to sacrifice information about himself unless he has a good reason. I wondered what sort of effect a decade alone in the world could have on a person.  
  
We glanced at each other, wondering how to answer this. Harry solved it. "Please trust us, Remus," he said. "We'll explain in a moment."   
  
Remus sighed. "Actually, we only saw each other one time after I was bitten. My father - my birth father - left with Ritchie after having several medi-wizards confirm that there was nothing anyone could do to cure me."  
  
"Oh!" I cried out before I caught myself. I was thinking of Maria What's-Her-Name from primary. She would have had more than enough problems without her father betraying her. "Sorry," I blushed quickly. "Did you communicate at all?"  
  
"Not for a long while. My father ordered my mother and I never to contact Ritchie, and got the Ministry to back him on that. He did write a rather snide note when he got engaged ten years later." Ron, Harry, and I exchanged significant looks.   
  
"When did you see each other again?" I asked.  
  
Remus smiled wryly. "My fifth or sixth year, I can't quite remember which. Fifth. Ritchie became a renovator, like my father, and Hogwarts needed some repairs. Ritchie was hired. I had no clue that the renovator coming was Ritchie, and he certainly didn't suspect that he would find me a student here."  
  
"And - it didn't go well?" Harry guessed, thinking of what Sara had said about her family.   
  
"Not quite," Remus shrugged. "We avoided each other. Now, James and Sirius loved to test him - Ritchie had a livid fear of rats, so you can imagine the results - but we only ran into each other his last evening, as he was leaving. Tempers flew."   
  
"And his wife?" I prodded.  
  
"Wife?" Remus was looking more bemused with every question. "I never saw her. I know they had a little girl. That's when we started communicating in earnest again - when I heard she even existed, I wanted to know about her. Despite everything, Ritchie _was_ my brother, and she was his daughter."  
  
"What did you find out?"  
  
Remus looked mildly downcast. As his emotions on the outside are only a fraction of what he feels eternally, I felt badly for him. "Nothing, except that I had better stay away from her and Ritchie's wife. The warnings and threats were rather generic; you'd find them the same in most dramatic serial stories in cheap tabloids."  
  
I giggled in spite of myself.   
  
Ron appeared deeply disturbed. "But - But he was your _brother_!" I realised that he was appalled at the thought of any of his close-knit brothers regarding him like that. I wanted to tell him not to worry. The Weasleys were not like that.   
  
"And as a werewolf, I was the threat to his family. I'm sure that's what Father had drilled into his head - I'm rather certain Ritchie wouldn't have felt like that otherwise." He sighed. "I think Ritchie actually had it worse than I did. Father was a very…_ hard_ man. It's not that he was a bad person, but very - unbendable.   
  
"Ritchie and I grew up in a very small, homely village. It was very difficult to get adjusted outside of it. I can imagine that Father was very impatient with Ritchie's bewilderment. On the other hand, I was still with my mum…" The change in Remus's voice when he talked of his father and his mother was a mile wide. "She was frightened of the world outside of Canan Millbury too, I'm certain, but she was always… well, a mother." Remus suddenly hesitated and cut off. "I'm sorry for rambling. I'm getting too deep into memory."   
  
I assured him it didn't matter. "By the way," I added casually, "we think we know Ritchie's daughter."   
  
Ron and Harry grinned. Remus, however, looked as though we had just slapped him across the face. He stared at me for a moment, before his gaze slowly turned to the boys.   
  
"Now that you've had fun with shocking me with that announcement," Remus said after finding his voice, "you may want to elaborate. I assure you that I'm nicely dumbstruck."  
  
"I don't think we've ever mentioned anything about it to you," Harry "elaborated" carefully, "but there's a girl named Sara Blustovadk. She was missing from Hogwarts two years. Since she's two years older than us, she's now in our year. And we happened to notice the other day that she looks _identical _to you."  
  
"You mean _I _noticed," I pretended to argue, because Remus looked as though he couldn't collect his thoughts.   
  
"Yeah, yeah, it was _Hermione_ who noticed," Ron rolled his eyes. "As always."  
  
Remus licked his lips. "That's your entire basis for her being my brother's daughter?"  
  
"That, and the fact that she's orphaned, that her parents and her grandfather hated her because she looked like her father's dreadfully disgraceful brother…"  
  
"How'd you find that out?"  
  
"She told us," Harry said matter-of-factly. "We were the only two here over holiday, and, well, we started spilling our souls out in general boredom."  
  
Remus hesitated.  
  
"She does look exactly like you," Ron said.   
  
Remus started walking the width of the Great Hall, face unreadable. "Where does she live?"  
  
"With some Ministry member Blustovadk for most of her life, after he died her second year she went to a Muggle orphanage a few months and was also there the past year and a half; in between, with the Malfoys - "  
  
"The _Malfoys_?!" Remus cried.   
  
"Yeah," Harry continued, "I'm thinking they used her as a sort of servant, thinking she was a Muggle, I suppose - lower life form and all." He glanced at me. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know the Malfoys."  
  
I nodded. "Not a problem, Harry."  
  
"Well, anything's possible," Remus murmured to himself, still pacing.   
  
"Don't you believe us?" Ron asked, a little defencively.  
  
"Ron, I'd always believe you, but I'm just considering the possibility that there might be a mistake or a coincidence."  
  
"Think of it this way, then," Ron suggested brightly. "She's a nice bright girl who needs a home and you'd make her a fantastic guardian."  
  
Remus stopped and raised an eyebrow.   
  
"Profes - Remus, we're sure," Ron said certainly. "How's this - why not meet her and decide for yourself?" He grinned. "Even if it's not your niece, you might get attached to her anyway."  
  
"I feel as if I'm being had somewhere along the line here." Remus turned to me. "So I see you've all made up?"  
  
"What?" Harry asked. "Oh, the Society."  
  
Remus's face darkened. "I thought so. The Society for Purity?"  
  
Ron cracked a knuckle and called the Society a very dirty variation on its name.   
  
"My thoughts exactly, Ron," Remus nodded, "but you needn't speak so loudly."  
  
I cast a Silencing Charm around us as Ron started to explain. "Well, the" - we'll just delete these few syllables - "were starting to threaten Hermione, saying that if she didn't leave they'd hurt her friends - us. So Hermione single-handedly started a campaign to play Public Enemy Number One to all of us."  
  
I reddened. "I'm sorry," I said, for the umpteenth time. I reddened more so when I saw all three of them looking at me with quiet respect. I think that's the first time I'll ever be esteemed for acting like a bratty git.   
  
"It might have been a little over-zealous, but it was also a very fine thing to do, Hermione," Remus said gently.   
  
"We found out, though," Ron continued. "And now we're - "  
  
A very audible snicker came from somewhere. We glanced at each other nervously.   
  
"I shouldn't've let you talk of it," Remus said, voice low. "It wouldn't be surprising if they knew how to deactivate Silencing Charms. We'll discuss it later."   
  
"_Soon_ later," I implored, exchanging a look with Ron as we thought about our spying attempts.   
  
"As soon as possible. Write if you need to."   
  
"If we change the subject, can we stop whispering?" Ron asked.   
  
"Depends, why?"   
  
"Sara," Harry said. "Remus, you've got to meet her."   
  
Remus thought a moment. "Hogsmeade, on Saturday…" he suggested slowly. "What's she like? What would she think of Snuffles?"   
  
I let the boys answer that, as they knew her better. Ron was confident. "Wouldn't say a word."  
  
Harry was more cautious. Sirius was _his_ wanted and dearly loved godfather. But eventually Ron warmed him to the idea.   
  
"Harry, I bet she knows anyway," I said abruptly.   
  
"How?" he asked in shock, Ron and Remus looking just as bemused.  
  
"Living with the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy, if anyone, knows who is innocent and who isn't."  
  
Thus the meeting was arranged and sealed, although Remus had a request.   
  
"Let's not mention this to either Sara or Snuffles, would that be all right?"   
  
"Why not?" Ron asked.   
  
"First off, whether Sara is my niece or not, she is completely alone, and I'd hate to get her hopes up for a scrap of family and then have it dashed if we're wrong." Very tactful, I noted - if _we_'re wrong, not if _you_'re wrong. "And then… I, er, never told anyone, even Snuffles, that Ritchie had a daughter. I'm not sure how to break it to him, but let's not in case we don't have to, all right?"   
  
Harry gazed up at him levelly. "If you want, but you _should _tell him."  
  
It was _only_ as Harry said this that I noticed that he had gotten a little bossy lately. Maybe he _was _always like that, I don't know, but definitely he has gotten a tad more assertive. I'm not sure if I like it.   
  
  
15 March  
  
How many plans lately go off without a hitch? Not many, it seems, but today was very nearly one of them. The only snag is a mountain of homework that shall make this entry as short and to the point as I can bear to do so.  
  
Ron and Harry talked with Sara and asked if she would mind meeting an infamous murderer and a werewolf. As you may guess, Sara was skeptical and then very game (although had she not already known or suspected Sirius was innocent, I doubt that would have been the case). She even volunteered to be the lookout when the boys described the cave we would probably be going to, as it would look less suspicious if she was found wandering around alone.   
  
Lovely day. Sun, breeze, blue sky. Puffy white clouds. Chilly, though, and snow in little grey puddles and heaps here and there. And as we climbed up the mountain pass (no one met us there this time; Sirius just told us to meet him there), the snow grew thicker and the air wetter. I was glad Sirius had been ordered by Dumbledore not to stay there chronically any longer. It was miserable in that cave when Ron, Harry, and I stumbled in. And somewhat heartbreaking to see that Sirius and Remus looked completely comfortable and used to the damp snow clinging to them.   
  
Sirius snatched Harry up in a rib-crunching hug. (Sirius is no threat to us unless he is showing Harry affection. Then… watch out.)   
  
"Hi, Sirius," Harry grinned happily.   
  
The happy reunion/rendezvous only lasted as long as it took for someone to explain that Sara was coming. Sirius lost his expression of joy and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.   
  
"You can't just bring _anyone_ here," he said sternly.   
  
"Just - Just wait a moment," Harry implored. "She can be trusted, okay?"  
  
"What's her name again?" Sirius asked grumpily, still obviously angry with Harry, and Ron and me, but not knowing how to show it.   
  
"Sara Blustovadk."  
  
"That foreign Ministry worker, Muggle office," Sirius mused. "Jimmy Blustovadk, wasn't it? I never knew he was married, was he, Moony?"  
  
Remus shook his head.   
  
"He adopted Sara," Harry explained.  
  
Sirius raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Why? No, don't answer that - probably wanted a tax deduction and slave, not a kid."   
  
The rest of us exchanged glances while Sirius wasn't looking.   
  
"Either way, Mr. Black, I was also taught to keep my mouth shut tight and know you're innocent anyway, so I promise to be quiet and lie low," Sara spoke up from behind us. Sirius startled and stared at her. "I'm sorry if I was abrupt. No one is around or followed." She stopped uneasily as she noticed Sirius's stare.   
  
Sirius murmured something under his breath, the nature of which I doubt I even _want_ to know. "You're not her?"  
  
"I am Sara Blustovadk, sir." Sara smiled wryly. "No, Mr. Blustovadk never attempted any experimental Muggle products on me, so I'm still fairly normal."  
  
Ron snorted.   
  
"Re-Remus," Sirius said, eyes still fixed on Sara in shock, "in all our months putting up with each other lately, you never, ever mentioned to me that you had gotten married."   
  
"I hadn't," Remus said, voice just about as devoid of expression. He was staring at Sara as well.   
  
She turned to the voice and stared back at Remus, mouth partly open. Finally she got a grip on herself. "Hello. Professor Lupin, I take it," she said, with a forced smile that didn't quite show.   
  
There was a moment where no one said anything, and Ron, Harry, and I just savoured the moment, secretly proud of what we had created.   
  
"All right," Sara said at long last, swallowing. "I feel as if everyone knows something I don't, because he" - she motioned to Sirius - "seems looks as though he has seen the ghost of Christmas past, and _I_ feel like I'm seeing something similar, but everyone else doesn't look too shocked, just a little smug and pleased. Even you, sir," she nodded to Remus, "don't seem incredibly surprised, unless you're very good at hiding emotions."   
  
"He is," Sirius agreed, sharp and shaky at the same time, "but I agree. I feel as if I'm being had. Could someone please explain?"   
  
"Remus, Sara," I said quietly, "I think you can both figure it out."  
  
Remus, feeling ever-responsible, tried to speak, but it didn't work out well past the first couple of words. Finally Sara wrenched her eyes away from her look-alike and reached into the pocket of her fifthhand robes.   
  
"Excuse me, sir, but I think you might know something about this," she said quietly, pressing an old-fashioned chain watch into his hands, one with a large face and made out of what looked to be a nickelish metal. Sirius looked at it and sputtered.   
  
"Remus, how'd she get that?" he demanded.   
  
"I sent it to her, Sirius." Remus held it in a daze. "It was my grandfather's - I told you that, right?"   
  
"Yeah." Sirius was grinning sheepishly. I figured this was another long Marauderic story that I may or may not want to know all the details about. "Old Donnelly heirloom and your mother supposedly kept it guarded by dragons. What's that to do with anything? - wait." Sirius's eyes worked shrewdly. "So it would make sense for her to be a Donnelly…"   
  
"A Nond, actually. Now can we stop talking about her as if she wasn't here?"  
  
We all grinned. "Thanks," Sara said shakily.   
  
"Did your father give this to you?" Remus asked her.  
  
"No. He threw it away, and I kept it ever since. I was really little then, maybe three. You're his brother, right?"  
  
"_Wait a second_!" Sirius cried. "This isn't - this isn't _Ritchie_'s daughter?"   
  
Ron started to clap sardonically. "Now you're getting somewhere!" I lowered my head to hide my amusement.   
  
Sirius rounded on us. "What do you three know about this?"   
  
"Us?" I pretended to look innocent.   
  
"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "Although you do know we're lying, right?"  
  
Sirius shook his head. "How long?"  
  
"A week," Ron replied.   
  
"They helped me confirm it Sunday," I added.  
  
"Told Remus just a couple of days ago," Harry supplied.   
  
Sirius glanced sideways. "If he wasn't so occupied right now, I'd give that bastard what-for," he said affectionately.   
  
Occupied he was. Remus and Sara were slowly moving toward a honest-to-goodness conversation.   
  
"I've a question, though," Ron said to Sirius, quietly, so as not to disturb them. "What's a Nond?"  
  
"A surname."  
  
Ron blinked. "How can that be, if - "  
  
"Do you know about Remus's father?"  
  
"Yeah, the bloody git ran off," Ron nodded.   
  
"A few years before Hogwarts - let's see, if Remus was bitten when he was five, it was about two years after that - Lola - Remus's mum, the loveliest woman you'll ever meet - meet Chris Lupin, a discharged Hit Wizard. Although Chris suspected Lola of being connected to a long list of crimes- and, mind you, he was right about some of them, like harbouring a werewolf - " Sirius grinned " - he ignored those small details and they got married. I remember Chris well - temper to match my own and about as much logic, so we never got along but I liked him. And he was more of a real dad to Remus than Rick bloody Nond ever was."   
  
"Oh, goodness," I murmured, trying to imagine having Chris "I-didn't-_mean_-to-blow-up-the-entire-swamp-of-Red-Lion" Lupin as a dad. As neither Ron nor Harry knew of him, they didn't know why I was shaking my head.   
  
Sirius started getting around to the original reason he had wanted to talk with us, and Remus and Sara, the Always-Courteous, quieted to listen as Sirius warned us against Christina Drothl. I felt a little proud of myself for already making most of the conclusions.   
  
"Fredrick Drothl was a friend of my dad's," Sirius grimaced, "and personal medi-wizard of the family, not because Drothl made any of us feel safe, mind you, but because the Blacks just _had_ to have the best in Europe. Drothl _did_ know his medi-stuff inside and out. Unfortunately, he was always a bit more interested in creating diseases and illnesses than curing them."  
  
"Like Drothimites?"   
  
Sirius stared. "Hermione, you're always a step ahead. Like Drothimites. I'm still not sure if it's completely wiped out - "  
  
"There was only one case of that, a little five-year-old boy," I replied.  
  
Sirius grinned caustically. "I know. That was me." He looked amused at my shock. "I told you, he was our doctor. He gave me the injection when I complained of a sore throat or something. But don't worry, I wasn't ill just then. He was too clever for that. It didn't even show up until my second year, when finally he got tired of waiting and stopped giving me the potions to prevent it from activating, which he said were for some of my non-existent allergies."  
  
"Why?" I demanded angrily. "You were just some innocent little kid!"   
  
Harry snorted.   
  
"Well, innocent of anything other than wrecking havoc," I corrected.   
  
"He and my dad were in a stupid quibble about money or something, so he figured if I died - _if_, mind you, it wasn't tested - it would serve old Arisuis Black right. Thus I spent two lousy months in the hospital wing and eventually got fed up, and, with the help of a few friends and one very weak-backboned teacher, managed to combat the Drothimites and send it back to his creator. Drothl died and I got to play hero for a day. Pity, though, his wife is still good and kicking, and apparently not even exiled from the country any more."  
  
He turned to Harry seriously. "Harry, _Doctor_ Drothl always had his fingers in any Dark political pie he could find, and I doubt the Death Eaters were an exception. Voldemort would be mightily interested in your Defence teacher - "  
  
"Is he ever not?" Ron asked under his breath.   
  
" - so keep a sharp eye out and do _not_ trust her. I don't know what you think of her now - "  
  
"I think she's a unfair and miserable old bat who likes to share her moods," Harry said simply. "Remus, you have no competition, by the way."  
  
"Stop it with all the too-broad hints, you," Remus said, not sounding as stern as he had tried.   
  
"Either way, don't turn your back on her a minute," Sirius finished. "And can everyone stop interrupting me?"  
  
We laughed at that.   
  
**The Poll For Chapter Twenty:  
  
Pacing. Too fast, too slow, double-quick or too dragged out? It's long and windy, does it keep interest? **  
  
  



	21. Blinded By the Eily

**A/N: I'm, again, incredibly sorry for taking so long. I've actually written fasted on this while school was in session than I did over the summer. However, I did do a TON of writing over the summer, most of which is already up or will be at this account:  
  
fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=187936   
  
*sponsor plug, yes* There's a great improvement in most of those stories. So if you're bored and have nothing to better to do than hound for HG5 updates *blushes because some people actually do* then go and hopefully enjoy yourselves. :-)  
  
With that note, I hope everyone enjoyed summer vacation/holiday and that you have gloried in reading and swimming. Thanks sincerely to reviewers (the rulers... er, encouragers of my life... er, hobby): Ayla Pascal, Flamewing, Lavander Ice, Le Chat Qui Garde La Lune (who Rhe is only ignoring along with the rest of the world!), Mira Zareel, Niffler68 (I didn't dare reply to your review for fear I'd have my head Blast-Ended Skwert'd off, but thanks for the kick in the rear :-), ron loves hermione, Silent Onion, Slytherin Gal, Tarawyn, Volotra, and Wolfie da Wolf**  
  


**Chapter Twenty-One: Blinded by the Eily**  


  
20 March  
  
Somehow in the midst of all this Ron has the time to pout that we skipped his birthday. Well, granted, I suppose he has _some _claim to those pathetic puppy-dog eyes he's been giving, but, honestly. We are rather distracted. In fact… let me check what was happening at 1 March… that was right after Hagrid was killed, for heavens' sakes! Totally insensitive that boy. I'll get him with that little bit once I'm finished writing. Or perhaps not. It sounds too… cruel, particularly to Hagrid's memory.  
  
In any case, Ron's miserable little hints that he isn't important enough for us to notice (oh, Merlin and Morgana, rest my head!) are a welcome change of pace from what I just came from: the mess of strangled emotions of awful helplessness of a group of people otherwise known as the CC. Only, funnily enough, I can't believe I never got around to mentioning the _good _changes that have been happening there since January. It seems morbid human nature kicked in again - complain when it's going wrong, but never acknowledge when we make progress.  
  
Ever since that attack by Rowena's River the night of the Friday Night Fling, Professor Dumbledore seems to have lost a bit of patience with the Correspondence Chain (he certainly has more patience with the lot that I do). Those irritating Three Nurses, Page, Bell, and anyone else who is slowing things down has been swept neatly out of the way with Dumbledore's characteristic grace and no-nonsense persuasion. (Fleur is still about. Someone besides me has strong faith in that veela-girl. Probably a male.)   
  
In addition to weeding out some of our "problem children", as Chelsea called them scornfully, this also allowed for several other members to return. For example, since a little before Christmas, Remus simply stopped coming to the meetings. During my time with him and Sirius, he explained whenever he came he only caused arguments, which was the last thing anyone needed. On the other hand, he's been sending fast and furious correspondence to all sorts of members on all levels of the CC (I suspect some shopowner is giving him discounts just to keep the steady business he's created in ink, parchment, and quills).  
  
One of these letters, sent shortly after the affair of Playing Aurors (I still find the sound of that rather proud) at Carquel's, (he was probably still traumatised at Sirius's belated return and furious that it actually had to come to that) has been copied several times by various portions of the CC, including us, the first level, and it gaining fame elsewhere.   
  
The _Daily Prophet_ even ran large snippets of it yesterday, under the title of "Warning from a Werewolf", which certainly didn't help credibility but still has several people woken up from their delusion of safety (which I suppose isn't fair of me to scoff at, considering they haven't seen any of this firsthand… but honestly; the attacks and hints…). Today, much to my satisfaction, they offered a correction. "Lupin's Warning" covers several topics, to my undisguised enthusiasm: the real story behind certain attacks, what has actually happened at the Triwizard Tournament, what, to our best guesses, Voldemort (the original copy used the actual name; in the _Daily Prophet_ it ran as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named") is planning to do…  
  
I adored the beginning: "No one is safe any longer." Somehow it puts me in the mind of some B-class movie now, but it was an eye-catcher in the actual letter. It's the entire first paragraph (and the shortest one of the whole letter). And then, near the end: "This information was concealed by various sources for quite some time because those in authority did not want to cause a panic. I revealed this because I _want _some real-time fear in your hearts. If it is there now, excellent. Now kindly put that fear to good use. Be watchful and alert. Think carefully about what you as an individual and the wizarding world as a community did during Voldemort's last reign. Whatever we have learned from our mistakes is one step closer…."  
  
Enough eulogising the letter (although it makes me feel a lot better to know that this is getting _out_). The point is that with the problem children (oh, Chelsea, will you never stop making me snicker over your poor unfortunate victims?) are gone, others have returned; I believe they may have been outright asked by Dumbledore or McGonagall, most notably Marlana Payne, Remus, and Sirius (as Snuffles. Fleur is the only one who dares ask aloud what "zat mutt" - as said to Sirius's growls - is doing at meetings, and only gets one of those patient smiles from Remus).   
  
In all technicality, Fleur _should _be able to overrule them, but scratch that. Mrs Johansson, Miss Payne, and Remus are right back where they probably should've been the entire time and are now practically running the CC. Luckily they also have a strong influence and support on us measly students (the term coming from the attitude our dearly departed colleagues on anyone under the age of eighteen). Finally I'm really beginning to understand our role. It's a breath of fresh air, that's what, and I feel as if we're doing something now.  
  
Problem being, of course, is that while we're organised and ready and still mostly helpless.   
  
"It's an aggravating task, isn't it?" Mrs Johansson agreed tonight as Lisa rubbed at her temples.   
  
"Of course it is," Payne said wickedly, leaning back on her chair in a way that made me have to bite back the instinct to warn her not to do so in case she fell. "If it wasn't aggravating and was easy fools would be running it. Oh, that's right, fools _were _running it…"  
  
Mrs Gondola looked a little weary at the unmanageable scrap. Remus, looking up from the scrolls he and Chelsea had been poring over, gave her a light warning glance. Mrs Johansson went on as if there had been no interruption.  
  
"We don't prevent too much of the bad news here. Unfortunately, we just get to be the breakers of it, and messengers are often killed or go insane trying to prevent it."  
  
Chelsea interrupted, a bit hesitantly, with a question about a _Daily Prophet _item of a commotion outside of an Irish village. Reports of hooded figures, a great deal of Dark Magic spells, a wolf (it was full moon, actually, but no one was close enough to determine if it was true or were-). Most interestingly is that there are Ministry headquarters set up close to this particular area.   
  
"We'll find out from our intelligence?" Payne said questioningly, with a glance to Remus.  
  
"Said intelligence hasn't reported yet, but I believe we can guess what that's about."  
  
"Excuse me?" Chelsea said (only Chelsea).   
  
"Said intelligence is confidential," replied Payne, who certainly has the ability to annoy people to no end.   
  
Remus gave her another little glance. "One blunt woman to another, I see."  
  
"Oh, we're Slytherins, Remus," Payne retorted with a smile. "It's to be expected."  
  
"We don't mean to lord it over you, Chelsea" - still giving Payne a hard stare as if to send a point across - "but the less people that know the better."  
  
Snuffles gave a rather mournful little whine, of which I couldn't quite discern the meaning. Shortly after meeting was adjourned (with much pomp from Fleur) and Ron immediately brought up his Birthday Woes. I'll get him a present, for sure. A non-returnable ticket to Katmandu, perhaps… no, I'm being too harsh. When I get this mean-spirited it usually means that the clock is reading about bedtime.   
  
  
  
24 March  
  
Oh, delightful news for this time. Professor Grubby-Plank was called in for work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, as several have prayed she would be. Fleur reported to Dumbledore that she is incapable of handling all of the classes herself. Today showed up at breakfast no less than Professor Charlie Weasley himself.   
  
(Malfoy had to spoil the moment, little prat he is, by asking loudly and snidely if Weasley was here to take the gameskeeper job. Charlie responded that if he was, what of it? It was perfectly respectable. Malfoy laughed at this and said that for a Weasley perhaps it was. Charlie retorted that he was not here for that purpose, dead lucky for Malfoy, much to my amusement.)  
  
Unfortunately for Charlie, Fleur has developed a dreadful case for him. Charlie seems impervious to her veela charm… to Fleur's obvious disgruntlement. She is extremely eager to teach right alongside him, let me tell you. Ron looked wide-eyed and horrified during class today.  
  
Charlie managed to take care of her pretty quickly by inviting all of us to have an exercise session for our Kzeals. Fleur suggested that perhaps we oughn't, after all, they were rather illegally bred… Charlie gave her a smile and said that still, they just so happened to be alive now and were magical creatures after all, so we needed to take care of them. Afterwards we had to learn how to give them proper medical examinations, the like of which even I was not to keen on (not to mention everyone's face was rather pink), but Fleur was cowed enough to keep quiet and in the background. Beatry, by the way, is perfectly healthy, probably thanks to Neville, who has spoiled that little creature to death.   
  
Malfoy, rot him, brought up a bit of a point about - the gameskeeper (I refuse to say "Hagrid's replacement"). So far Filch and the teachers have taken care of most of the immediate jobs, but truthfully Hagrid's not-hereness is apparent. The thought I can't stand is someone in his cabin, however. That's just… _wrong_. I don't think I could stand the thought of some stranger (who will undoubtedly fall short of Hagrid) down there.   
  
  
26 March  
  
I can't exactly say Sara is being downright annoying, because she honestly isn't. It's just that I have a bit of a habit of getting my hackles up whenever she's about, or that I don't like the intrusion into our little threesome - not that Sara "intrudes", per se. Still, after finding out she is Remus's niece, I suppose we couldn't exactly _ignore _her altogether, or even just a little.   
  
She gets along very well with Ron, and it irritates me. I don't know quite why, but when I see them talking and carrying on I have this urge to go over, snatch Ron by the wrist, and get a restraining order on her. Which is ridiculous. But I've admitted that I'm very attached to Ron (not that he seems ready to do the same back, which is disconcerting when I wonder if he feels _anything _the same… oh, teenagerdom!)   
  
The twins like to prank her incessantly, and she fires right back, certainly forgetting her prefect badge at these times. She and George still act like rabbits. And she and Harry share a quiet rapport.   
  
But when I think on it, I can't really begrudge her a great deal, because as Lisa Turpin pointed out today as she saw me glowering, Sara isn't widely accepted elsewhere. She was a rather lonely figure before Christmas and still rather is.   
  
"You could lay off her a bit," Lisa suggested. "She's not honestly as awful as you made out. She was a bit above me before her re-Sorting and was very nice to us younger Ravenclaws. Besides" - and Lisa gave me a knowing grin - "I thought you and the boys hated each other now."  
  
I tried to raise and eyebrow and look haughty. It came out as my true emotion - surprise. "It's that obvious?"  
  
"Only to those you know you well, probably just us in the CC. We understand. I won't let it slip. My friend Mandy is in a similar position." She sighed. "This war thing is really screwy."  
  
"Mild way of putting it."  
  
"I don't like feeling helpless. Mandy has nightmares all the time now."  
  
I remembered our spying plans. "We don't have to be for very long." I've tried to avoid it because of fear, but we can't do that any longer. But the Society for Purity is alarmingly quiet as of late… which usually means the antagonists are plotting, now doesn't it?  
  
Wait a moment. I believe I need to go smack my head against a really solid stone wall. _Imbecile_, Hermione! I don't know why I never saw that before! If the more bigoted Slytherins can created a Society for Purity - why, their victims can do the same, can't they?  
  
All right, there may be a real idea hidden in here. They can harass one Muggle-born at a time, but strength in numbers and all. If we can secretly contact all the Muggle-borns in the school and have a system for passing information and a way to help each other… if we can call upon the good old-fashioned standby "buddy system" for protection… if we can gather together all our information for a really good collection of spying reports… a-_ha_. A-ha!  
  
I just adore the feeling that comes from the lightbulb of a very good idea.   
  
  
28 March  
  
Come to think of it, there was more to Lisa's and mine conversation, but I'm not too interested in writing it all down.   
  
The Eilies (meaning comes from root word "light"; I considered Society of Eily before realising that it was borrowing too much from the Society for Purity):  
  
Things to do:  
  
1)Concise list of all Muggle-borns in school (bet any Galleons the SfP has one?)  
  
2)Decide which will be most willing and helpful.  
  
3)Determine how to best word mission.  
  
4)Make sure everyone involved masters basic silencing, secrecy, and protection spells.  
  
5)Have a way for everyone to discreetly send information found during attacks to leader (which is probably me, of course, not to sound egoistical, but I _did _sort of have the idea).   
  
6)(Same old problem). Find a way to talk to Dumbledore (perhaps Harry can help? He'll ask a great deal of questions, however, and the less that know the better…)  
  
Now it's about time to go accomplish everything. After Defence homework, of course.   
  
  
3 April  
  
I just re-discovered why working with people is headachy. Possibly I should've learned something from the CC - no, Hermione, that would have been intelligent and logical, thus you didn't.   
  
All right, this depressed sarcasm is getting me nowhere, and not all the news is too bad. Not all of it is the key word…  
  
Justin Finch-Fletchey has been most helpful, but he also pointed out that "halfbloods" (I rather dislike that word but am not quite sure what to switch it to) are also being harassed to some degree. But on the other hand, now some extremely helpful and clever people are involved now that we're extending the hand: there's Miles Feth, Des Feth's older brother, a sixth-year prefect in Hufflepuff, and Cho Chang, who, yes, still seems to be dating Neville. And there's the Head Girl, Leila Hildegarde, who, unfortunately, can write better than I (everyone knows of her), and thus she can do the statement. The only thing I'm wary of is that she can word it well, but I'm not sure she completely understands what to word. No, this is not jealousy on my part! It's merely… a desire to make sure the message clear. Is _that _very much to ask?   
  
I've only now, after about eight years of keeping a diary, realised that it's somewhat ridiculous to defend myself in the privacy of my own writing when I am talking to no one. Odd.   
  
In the back of the _Daily Prophet _there's an order form for _Thirteen Thousand Four Hundred and Sixty-Two Ways To Defy All Laws of Gravitation and Still Keep the Majority of Your Limbs_, a book of flying tips which claims amusing incidents, moving illustrations to example, references, did-you-knows, and fun tidbits on how to sneak out at night to practise so your parents never know. So I'm not entirely sure it's a mature buy, but it'll keep Ron happy, so I pretend not to have read all the fine print.  
  
Fine print. Ah, that brings back the memories. Fred and George were certainly busy on April Fool's. The only halfway constructive one of the pranks was the one in which they added nearly invisible "fine print" on their March exams, which stated certain… "allowances" in answering. By the time someone realised this and they demanded full marks, the teachers had already signed the tests. Dumbledore, however, was amused, and seemingly thought this was ingenious enough to not have to re-test.   
  
There was also the one where Filch's office was decorated in chanting pink hearts, adhered to the wall with Unremovable Tacks. Fred disclaims that this was in any way cruel. "They're grand conversationalists," he said, the picture of sincerity, "and who else in this school talks to him?"  
  
  
10 April  
  
This is precisely why it is so encouraging to have people around who are dealing with what you are.   
  
"I declare Hermione Granger an absolute genius," proclaimed Chelsea Smythe, whom, to my shock, was actually a Muggle-born and adopted by a wizarding family when she was orphaned and gave signs of magic. I had asked her if any of the Slytherins knew of this, and she shrugged.   
  
"Not yet, but they will."  
  
"Particularly if they see you with us," I frowned, worried.  
  
She gave me one of those cool glares that make me instantly feel as if I should drop to my knees and beg forgiveness for utter stupidity. "I'd rather feel them beating me up than my conscience doing it. Especially since I can fight _them_. Now shut up and let me help."  
  
Yes Ma'am, Chelse. Anyhow, her announcement went along the lines of "I declare Hermione Granger an absolute genius. Secondly, the Society has been quiet and inactive lately, which means they are plotting an absolute thunderstorm. Agreed?"  
  
Most of us agreed heartily. No one countered this belief, that's for sure.   
  
It's been a while since I wrote. A full week, I think - yes, 10 minus 3 is 7. So a lot has happened. Let's see. The book came in, the Quidditch one. Harry and I had some time trying to wrap it, because it was very excitable and kept flipping open to certain pages while shivering, and then taking into its mind to hover about and pretend it was Dangerous Dai himself. Finally, with the help of some ruthless curses we learned last year, we got the book to behave.  
  
Ron liked it. He made sure we were good and guilty but obviously was only joking and really pleased. He hasn't stopped going through it for days.   
  
Candy Whitehall, the girl who was Chaser for one game earlier in the year - I found her the other day crying like crazy in great heaves and sobs in a crevasse in Gryffindor Tower, a good ways away from the common room. I had been following the sound of her tears on my way to bed and found her hugging the legs of a suit of armor. A rather surreal sight, actually.  
  
I made my way over and hesitantly kneeled next to her. "What's wrong, Candy?"  
  
She gasped, but of course it came out as more of a hiccup. Instantly I was wondering if she was Muggle-born before realising she was wizard blood through and through. "Don't tell Sara or Dean! Please!"  
  
All one can do under those circumstances is blink. Later I asked Dean, who shrugged and said they had found her crying a few months ago while they were on patrol and hadn't been too open.   
  
"Shh!" I replied thickly. "Okay, Candy, okay, I won't, okay?" She looked so terribly alone and frightened and half-hysterical that I simply hugged her as if she was Lissie. It was rather more awkward, considering her position and how she wasn't related to me and she was years older than my little cousin, of course.   
  
"Geroff!" she cried, starting to flail weakly. "Get off of me! Go away!"  
  
I increased my pressure on her until she gave up the struggle. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing! Nothing! I'm fine, really!"  
  
This was said by the girl who was washing her robes in her own tears and could barely talk for whatever was gargled up in her throat. I could only raise my eyebrows. "While I'm glad to see you can't really put anything past me since you lie like a nun, quite obviously there is something the matter."  
  
"It's - r-really!" Candy fought her tears, which of course only increased them. "R-Really, H-Her-Hermione, I'm a-all right. It's just - o-one of those d-days - w-wh-when n-n-n-nothing is g-going right… I j-just need a good night's s-sleep, honest!"  
  
I got the impression every word she said was true, simply not all of the truth. "Fine. Fine. Now let's dry your eyes. I'm going to help you to your dormitory."  
  
She half-gasped, half-groaned in dismay. "You don't have to do that, really!"  
  
"No, I don't," I agreed, feigning composure, feeling a bit of righteousness helping to keep my cool. "But I'm going to do it anyway." It made it sound as if I cared, which I did, but you know what I mean. Showing that you are going out of your way for someone is supposed to help their self-esteem, which is turn is supposed to help break suicidal thoughts. Melodramatic? Yes. But I was worried. And maybe nothing will come out of this, but all the same I told her of Honeydukes's chocolate bargain bin.  
  
Oh, and as for the last none-too-minor detail - Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match soon! I admit I'm thrilled. Anything for a bit of light-heartedness. And this isn't a just highly-charged match, just one everyone can enjoy. Particularly if we win. I don't see why not. Ravenclaw has a new captain, while our team is looking really good, enjoying their last hurrah. Next year Harry and Sara will be the only ones left: the rest is a complete do-over, which most are mourning. It's doubtful we'll find the chemistry they have left of the Golden Years (when Wood was here), and somehow we're wary of chancing it, whether we have a choice or not.   
  
I'm still thinking of what Lee Jordan said on commentating. He hasn't brought it up again, and I keep thinking on how more popular kids like to pull such jokes on less popular ones and then laugh when they fall for it. Lee doesn't seem the type, but then he does have that warped prankster sense of humour.  
  
But the important part is My Baby. Or Our Baby. But all in all, the one and same: the Eilies. We have lists and lists made up. That was the idea: first week, organisation, which has put some people off but is keeping the dedicated ones. And it gives us a sort of confidence knowing something concrete is there that we can all read and see and feel: lists and documents.   
  
There's lists concerning what little we know on self-defence and which we believe is most helpful and trustworthy; there's lists on what people in the school are most helpful and trustworthy and who/where/what might give us the best advice; there's "safe routes" to various classes; "neutral answers to give to nastily tricky questions" (I think a Feth developed that one: it's both useful and vaguely amusing); library references, documents on our purpose, rules, regulations, etc…  
  
Our statements are very original and I'm proud. "We have been blinded by the light of unity," Leila read from her draft. "Thus we have come together as the Eilies to use our illumination to protect ourselves against - "  
  
"Ferrets!" cried Des Feth.   
  
This was written into our revised manifesto. Our mascot is Crookshanks, for which I'm very proud and grateful, although Crookshanks seems to have a slightly more inflated ego ever since Justin Finch-Fletchey spent a few hours sketching him for a logo.  
  
  
14 April   
  
Charlie, in an effort to ward off Fleur, brought along our mysterious Josie Chance to Care of Magical Creatures today. Most unfortunately for Fleur, Josie proved to be decently capable and became Charlie's right hand. Almost quite literally. When Charlie gently pulled back a lock of Josie's hair Ron swears he saw wings about to spurt from Fleur's back, whether or not this is genetically impossible or no. (Logic never has much sway in his beliefs, does it?)   
  
Ron likes Josie, though. Makes sense, since I think he was worried for a while Fleur might snatch Bill or Charlie. Absolutely torturous for the poor boy, eh? Or… perhaps… perhaps he just still has those fantasies of having her himself.   
  
I suppose there's no point in demanding of my hormones why this makes me want to throw something.  
  
Oh, I don't know. I've a crush on Ron. I admit it. But is it anything more? And why on earth does my mind insist on taking the time to do that when there's so much more to worry about? And besides, the idea of anything serious with Ron just sort of draws up a blank. Most of what I know of Ron points to… immaturity, really. But then again, my sordid little half-fantasies (crush them!) also have light suggestions of the person Ron is close to becoming, in which he really has more depth.   
  
There's always this strong urge to blot out anything I write concerning these feelings. New topic, please. Let's stick our hand into the Bag of Current Events…  
  
The words "transparent lie" have been reinvented yesterday, in the words of Daily Prophet writer Chester Madley. Apparently a dark-haired, foreign-looking man burst into a Ministry centre almost a month ago, the same night of the attacks in Ireland. One Ministry worker revealed this to the press, going into great detail about his state of raggedness, terror, and exhaustion. "He wanted to give a message. One moment he was there, and the next he made Harry Houdini proud."   
  
Now, after a week-long Ministry conference, the same Ministry member announced he had fallen asleep that night on his watch and truthfully hadn't a clue.   
  
You know, I'm glad I'm in Hogwarts, because if I was outside of where I spend most of the year I'd be frightened to death at the thought of doing a thing. There's no one to trust - except of course, who is here.   
  
Drothl would be excepted from that, of course, but luckily that is a problem we mightn't need to worry about for some time. Sirius sent Harry a short note in a tone of supreme satisfaction on how with things going as they are, Drothl might be pulled into custody due to her rather shady past. Harry sent him back some news that we're also pretty happy about - last Potions class Snape sent around official forms for the students whose families had no objection to having a lycanthrope instruct their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes "in case of an emergency". "Brilliant!" Seamus roared, punching a fist into the air, drawing stares/sneers from the Slytherins and a glare from Snape, that said "keep your mouth shut, Finnigan" more effectively than any words. That sort of look must be handy, really.   
  
Most interesting was when a large portion of Slytherins assured him on the spot that they weren't having (insert unflattering adjectives and a word that I never want to repeat here) teaching them. Snape nearly smirked. "Very well," he said in as regular a tone of voice as his usual.   
  
"Why? Who'll be there besides the werewolf?" asked Morag MacDougall.   
  
Malfoy, good grief, he has the teacher's pet routine down entirely too well. "Is it you, Sir?" he asked with great keenness.   
  
"No." Again the faintest suggestion of a mocking sort of smile tugged at his lips. "Professor Grace Zambia."   
  
Chelsea groaned, but seemingly almost no one else has any idea of what they're getting into. "All the little Hufflepuffs have already turned in a negative," she said scornfully to me at this evening's CC meeting. "Guess they don't know they're in for the woman who's a monster full-time." She glanced around edgily to make sure Zambia hadn't attended - even she is wary of infuriating her. Meanwhile I squirmed, feeling a bit uncomfortable at Chelsea's House prejudices. "Their delicate constitutions are in for a shock." Then she smiled grimly. "At least it'll be amusing to watch."  
  
Lisa then asked if Chelsea ever said anything cheerful. Chelsea feigned cluelessness: "Cheerful? What's that?"  
  
"Cheerfulness, _noun_: something that flees in terror whenever Chelsea Smythe shows up," I said solemnly. Chelsea laughed, but no one else got the joke.   
  
**TBC  
  
Poll: The plot. How easy/difficult is it to follow? Are there times when Hermione brings up a character/event that happened beforehand that you have no clue to?   
**


	22. Why Not to Go ARoaming A'Night

**A/N: You know I've been late updating. I know I've been late updating. Why not just let all readers/reviewers have a throw-at-the-naught-author-free fest?  
  
But, in all honesty, I really think I've found my thread again, and the next ones shouldn't take so long. If they do, it's because this semester I have to take the hardest course in my school (as acknowledged even by upperclassmen), and there shall be a lot of homework.  
  
Warning: sexual matters. PG-13  
  
Warning the Second: Qudditch match coming up in chapter twenty-three.  
  
Thanks to all reviewers. **  
  


**Chapter Twenty-Two: Why Not to Go A-Roaming A'Night**  


  
18 April  
  
I like that the Eilies are working very well and just the way I intended them to. I like that Remus is teaching here again. I like that Ron has been acting in some manner vaguely resembling a human being. I like that a Death Eater was arrested recently.  
I like that Viktor has completely ignored me since the _Daily Prophet _article around Christmas. I like that Harry and Ginny are currently having what looks to be an engaged and promising conversation.  
  
I like that Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw to the ground. Even if it was only a practise match. Somehow I am extremely, extremely pleased with that tidbit.   
  
The captains - Alicia and Cho - agreed to it. It sort of takes away the advantage of surprising the other team with strategies and tactics (what, exactly, is the difference between them?) and such, but then again it nullifies it on both sides, so they remain about equal.   
  
Of course, the team that benefits from an advantage is the one that loses, because then they are aware of what _not _to do during the real game. And, unfortunately, we were far from the losing team - but didn't we destroy them! Our Chasers scored about two gazillion points (which is a Hermione-ish way of saying that I don't know the precise score but that we had quite a lot, thank you, obviously), and even though Harry seemed a little nervous he caught the Snitch. It was brilliantly exciting for all that, though, as… yes, we admit… behind closed doors… that Ravenclaw has very good Beaters and Cho isn't a bad flyer, either.   
  
It's so nice to think of something as lighthearted as Quidditch. For ages past (not literally, but it's such a lovely phrase to use) I've regarded Quidditch outside of Gryffindor (and Viktor, I suppose) as something not really worth the time, let alone the spilled blood. But I thank the heavens for it now, because during Quidditch Dark Lords have no place.   
  
Note to self: If ever abducted by You-Know-Who, repeat this thought.   
  
But not everything is Quaffles and broomsticks, however. To be sure, a man named Nott (Cassandra Nott's father or uncle, I believe… I prefer to think uncle, because even she does not deserve him as a father, whatever else she might) was arrested with charges of Death Eater activity… and a newspaper (not the _Prophet _but a smaller one called the _Weekly Yell_, which is a ridiculous name but has decent reporting) repeated Nott's words of: "I have always been the most faithful wizard in Britain to the Ministry of Magic."  
  
Harry read this bit and snickered.  
  
"Getting cynical, aren't you?" I queried, a little cynically myself - Chelsea, for one, has that effect - but also with some worry. Harry looks so much _older _as of late. The growth spurt has gone over physically but mentally he's growing rather too fast.  
  
"Not cynical. Amused."  
  
"Amusement at something of this nature is cynicism," I insisted.  
  
"There's no point in arguing with you."  
  
And we _weren't _arguing. We're friends again and will stay that way. It was not an argument.   
  
There is no point in arguing in anyone anyway. I've found this much out since meeting Professor Zambia and thank some good fairy (er - just an expression) waiting over my cradle at birth for the fortune of everyone in my Defence class not objecting to Remus. Because what little I've seen of Zambia is quite… disturbing.   
  
This said, I will not deny the satisfaction in knowing that nearly all the Slytherins have her. A pity most goes for the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, as well. The Ravenclaws really don't care about such a trifling matter as lycanthropy so long as it doesn't interfere with education, I suppose. But the fact remains that Slytherin is the House holding the majority percent of students suffering… er, learning… under Zambia.  
  
"Tell me," demanded Katie Bell before the Quidditch game, as they were trying to calm their nerves… and somehow decided that discussing Grace Zambia was the remedy for nerves. "How exactly did this… _woman… _decide to become a teacher? Did she just have a dream one night years ago? Woke up - 'oh, I'm going to trot over Hoggy-Woggy-'Ogwarts and ask dear old Dumbledore for a post?'"  
  
"She tried to settle herself over at St Mungo's but when they found her torturing the patients she decided to go into the education field," shouted a passing Ravenclaw girl who probably has the misfortune to be in the one Ravenclaw class with Zambia. "She figures when one does it at a _school _then it's considered toughening up the kids for later life."  
  
"And, damn it, she's right!" growled Fred. "Dumbledore must've been mad to keep her the first time and crazier to keep her now."  
  
"I don't know about the first time," said Alicia soothingly, "but now she's the only one. Almost no one takes the Defence post - and if they forced students to have big bad scary Lupin the Ministry could probably shut the school down. Can't have such a threat around Hogwarts. Death Eaters, yes; _Snape_, sure, he probably provides the entire Ministry with truth serums; lunatics - in the insanity sort of way - oh, certainly, and Zambia? Hey, why not, she just had a rough childhood."  
  
Giggles.   
  
"I've no pity. Sorry." Sara rolled her eyes, for once devoid of her unfailing optimism.   
  
"Hey, no complaining!" George said. "You don't _have _her."  
  
Sara got on her knees and clasped her hands heavenward. "No, but I have detention with her tomorrow."  
  
I don't know when Zambia has time to think of teaching. Although she has - what is it, half of the school? - she gives out more detentions than Snape and McGonagall. Not Snape and McGonagall combined - but each on their own two feet, yes.   
  
No, I'm not bitter because I got one at all. In fact, I shall conspicuously not mention it at all, because everyone knows that a detention from her is complete bogus. Yes, steam is still shooting from my ears, but that's a minor detail. I'm trying to remember the things that are happy.  
  
… Can't remember them now. Ah, pessimists rush in.   
  
Apart from the Zambia end of bad things, some things are decidedly negative for Remus. Although at least we got a laugh out of one of some of the rather nasty things on that front from some people who apparently don't have enough homework. One of the welcome-backs revealed itself during the corridors. Chelsea Smythe and I - as I'm still "out" with Harry and Ron we stick together a good deal, and it doesn't hurt to elude the Society when you consider she's a Slytherin - were going down to Potions and passing through the Defence corridor. There was a line of Gryffindor students going in the opposite direction, and it was crowded with a few Slytherins and Ravenclaws fourth-years going to their next class as well. I nodded to Remus and had walked on when I heard a stomped foot. Apparently that was Remus's version of a cry of pain. Chelsea and I turned to see what had happened (it was a really _hard _stomped foot, and a loud one, which is saying something in such a crowded corridor).   
  
The door handle had been transfigurated silver. Which was bad enough. But at this juncture jet streams of liquid silver started streaming out from various pores - set off, apparently, but the doorknob. Obviously a strong message for Remus, but I will say this: it was none too intelligent and missed its mark. Do you know how much silver that's so hot it's liquid is for people who _aren't _werewolves? I've been healed, but I have a very lovely scar on my arm from it.   
  
But I admired how Lupin handled the situation. Before anything else, the burns and such were healed, and he told us to wait a moment and he'd give us passes to his next class. First he said this much, in a low tone that made me worried even though I knew of my innocence, that this stunt was one of the most foolish things he had ever seen, that the endangerment to others was a terribly high price to pay for whatever goal the vandaliser(s) had in mind, and that no matter how fierce an opinion, taking them to this level with blatant disregard for harm befalling innocent bystanders was the prime reason Hogwarts School was under the Order of the Phoenix, the prime reason people had been deprived of family and loved ones in the wizarding world during the past thirty years.   
  
And after this speech, he added seriously: "The culprits might be interested in knowing that after they've served a detention and thought over this for a rather long night performing manual cleaning, I'm thinking of awarding their House five points for creativity…"  
  
For an instant I was open-mouthed with shock. Tongue-in-cheek and composure are all very well, but something of this magnitude could have really _hurt _someone!   
  
But almost as instantly, there was an exclamation of shock from somewhere in the room. I couldn't figure out who, but Remus's eyes traveled there. "… and for the maturity to own up to the wrongdoing. Or perhaps that should be ten points?" He looked away again quite quickly, and no one seems to know quite who was behind it, but after this no more nasty tricks on him have been pulled. So it was a cleverer way to deal with it that I would've ever imagined.   
  
Ron laughed when I told him the story - very hard, I might add. I hadn't thought he would quite understand it… and considering just how excessively amused he was, perhaps he doesn't… but apparently he thought it was brilliant. We had to cut off at that point quickly, because someone was invading the corridor we had hidden in to talk. It's a real pity I have to talk with Ron - and Harry of course - in private. Because Ron's beginning to be a nice conversationalist. "Nice", blah. There's an understatement. He's got all this potential welling up in him, which is sort of odd to say, because we're the same age and so I sound rather superior, but he… _does_.   
  
Enough. One day I'm going to lose it and go on and on about him and be incredibly ashamed of it afterwards.   
  
Anyway, that's one Weasley I'm getting on with. I don't know how to deal with Ginny. We haven't spoken since… well… _her _little entry. She _is_, however, speaking with Harry at the moment. I'm sure she considers _that _a nice trade.   
  
Oh, my. Did I really say something quite that nasty? Why is _Ginny _bothering me so? Even when we were friendly, I never really thought of her overmuch. Only now when we're unfriendly does she really begin to make any impression on me. Sad state of affairs but true.   
  
  
20 April  
  
I really shouldn't be taking the time to write, as there is a ton of work to be done as all the teachers go crazy with O.W.L. prep - I'm trying to organise everything into a list and squeeze them in at the best times, which means Trans. essay now at lunch, finish the Charms during the five minutes between classes, do my Defence assign. on Ward Spells gone wrong after Charms _before _it gets dark so I don't have nightmares, and then the Potions ingredients register before I get too sleepy, because that's just chock-_ful _of intricacies, and then Herbology sketches at around nine thirty if my hand isn't shaking too much, tomorrow at five thirty in the morning if so… Merlin! I forgot all about Astronomy tonight! - _anyhow_, I shouldn't be wasting time writing this out so longhandishedly.   
  
Today in Transfig (I can eliminate so many letters by not using the "uration") there was a newspaper on McGonagall's desk, and it was open to near the back, and one of the articles was circled; I saw that as I came in but didn't want to look at it… that would've just been… anyhow, she did look at it and went pretty pale and was sober. I mean, she's always serious. But it was a sort of tense strain you could really _feel _all during class. I don't think I was imagining things. I quit imagining things when a big brown owl swooped into my room at eleven years old with a letter accepting me to a magical school I never heard of.  
  
I'm so worried. Has someone died connected to Hogwarts or Dumbledore's little network? A huge attack somewhere? Some stupid Ministry move? What's _happened_?   
  
All right. All right. Trans… no, Charms. I have Charms sooner than I have Transfig. Right.   
  
  
23 April  
  
Someone bless Molly Weasley. I forgot all about my Easter chocolate and had it buried under Crookshanks's pillow, but today I found it and discovered the box was charmed. It's good as ever and the only thing I've eaten all day.   
  
This homework is _really _getting out of hand.   
  
I found out what McGonagall was so upset about. The Hibilitians have joined his side. At first I was really relieved, in a _is that all? _sort of way, but after I thought about it I realised the magnitude of that. Viktor had said - I think I probably even recorded it right here in this diary - that "Hibilitians have very strong magical powers, very different from ours", and I said something along the lines of: "I guess developing your own powers isolated for so many years can do that". They're one of three very distinctly different and powerful groups separated from the "regular" wizards in Europe. There's the Hibilitians, some Norshish sect with Babylonian adoration, the Refrudulaians right here in Britain, with their non-wand magic abilities, and the… I forget how it's spelled. The H'onou in Spain and Portugal. Considering his open love for such H'onouish things ("_as there is no foolish wand-waving here, many of you will scarcely believe this is magic…_"), I'd think Snape has H'onou ancestors. Not that I'm ready to ask, but that's where my money would be.   
  
Anyway, now You-Know-Who has some very powerful allies. "Allies" - all right, rather laughable a word, but still. I really don't enjoy thinking how he'll treat them and anyone else who turned to him with no real knowledge of their actions.   
  
  
April 26  
  
I feel really bad for yelling at them. But they're, well, boys. They can't understand it and I sure don't want to talk to them about it until they understand.   
  
And right now I just feel so completely exposed and vulnerable. Honestly. I'm in a hospital wing in a flimsy little hospital nightgown under flimsy little covers with the protection of the most pessimistic nurse ever to deign the face of this earth. My wand is in _her _custody and not anywhere near me. I'm a Muggle-born witch in a world of magic that can destroy people that is threatened by a madman who thinks the world owes him with_out_ a wand and with_out_ Snape's charm.   
  
I'm not going to cry. That would just be the icing on the cake for tonight. I will _not _cry. What am I going to tell my parents? I can't mention it to them, but surely I can't _not _mention it?  
  
All right, all right. I'll stop beating around the bush and rambling and get right down to it. I was almost raped tonight.  
  
It was… I _won't _call them the Society for Purity. What a joke, a downright farce. The scariest thing is, though, that I don't know which one. He had me pinned to the floor and was breathing down my neck and I don't know who on earth he was!   
  
I don't really need to be in the hospital wing. I _do _need to be locked up before I do something crazy. I feel so _helpless_. This wonderful and marvelous magic world has turned ugly and deadly and there's no way to halt it and I'm _stuck _here because leaving means that I just die later. We'll never win against someone like You-Know-Who - _Voldemort_. You can't destroy such an enemy. Yes, I've lost all faith.   
  
It was in one of those nice prowly corridors in supposedly safe Ravenclaw territory. Ravenclaw really has the best corridors. The only light came from the candles, so there was some orange but not much, and I got to escape from the world and into a History of Magic lesson that really is fascinating once Binns stops trying to tell it.   
  
And so there I was, thinking I was invincible, because I had a wand and a charm and phenomenal talent, and completely out of the orange-black comes another body that's immediately _far _too close to mine. There's arms around me, awkward and rough and unconsiderate, and a voice in my ear. The breath both tickles and hurts.   
  
"Hello, Mudblood."  
  
All I can see is black on the shoulder of his robes, and, at the very top of my vision, a bit of grey wall.   
  
"If you insist on staying, then it's grand to see you tonight. Do you know what's going to happen?"  
  
That voice, without words but in tones, tells me, and I start to squirm and struggle. He's taken my wand from my pocket and tossed it behind him. The charm? Trust me, I barely know what year it is. I'm not thinking about the charm and if it'll help me or not.   
  
"I'm going to force you to do whatever I like."  
  
I tried to knee him well, but he's got my legs pressed to the wall behind me as well, and I'm so panicky that I'm really not thinking straight nor strategically.   
  
"And right now I'd like you _down_."  
  
Somehow he pushes me to the floor. I kick him. He punches me so hard in the stomach I'm dazed. In all of this I can't see his face. I'm too scared to look at it, I guess because a face would make it real, while currently it seems a blessed nightmare. Then he's on top of me, bigger than me and undoubtedly stronger and able to keep me pinned to the floor.   
  
"Clothes _off_," he says, almost cheerfully. I wish I could detect any insanity in his voice but can't. He just sounds pleased. The only thing I know is that it's not Draco Malfoy. Don't know how, but I just know it isn't him.   
  
I twist and prevent him from getting anything off very effectively. He rips my sleeve by accident and then, angry, makes a huge rip on the bottom skirtish part of my robes on purpose.   
  
"And then I'll make the Mudblood scream and cry and beg for one more chance to leave, and oh, she'll have it, but not after I mold her into any shape I want and make her do what I want. Oh no. Yep."  
  
I was seized by some coldly calm force beyond me, rather than terrified. I spat - probably hit him, although not as squarely in the face as I liked, and then let loose an expression. I'm shocked I said it. My mother would not approve.   
  
And he responds just as kindly, and then, to show me just what he can do, I guess, he manages to reach and shoves his hand around a place where… well, a place I'd rather not have him in. But then I feel something warm on my chest, and he yelps. The charm had burnt him - I could tell it was the charm; I could feel it heating up nicely.   
  
Unfortunately, he was close enough to feel it, too, and pulled it out, holding it up by a piece of the chain above me. "So _this _- this is why we could never hurt you!"  
  
I think they managed to hurt me plenty, charm or no charm, but of course I would never say as much. He pulled it roughly over my head and tucked it in his pocket.   
  
But he had straightened to put it in there, and now my torso and upward was freed, and with that I lunged and gave him a good enough shove that he hit his head nice and hard on the stone floor, and I snatched my wand and shouted several curses which started ricocheting off the walls. I ran without further ado, and smack into Sinistra, who took one look at me and took me to the hospital wing. I guess I should be thankful she didn't ask any stupid questions - ones there was no way I could answer. And Madam Pomfrey didn't say much, at least not to me, just got me cleaned and in a bed with hot food before… I'm out of metaphors.   
  
  
27 April  
  
So I'm back in classes. Madam Pomfrey said I didn't have to go back until I felt ready. I was ready. I didn't have my homework completely set, but I wasn't hiding. And I sure don't enjoy the feeling of knowing someone in the castle almost succeeded in forcing me, but at least I'm not holding my head down and cowering at some unknown enemy.   
  
The boys _know_. How is something I'll never understand. Someone must've told them. And I'm avoiding them. Not "the boys" in general - I mean Ron and Harry, of course. It's easy enough to dodge them because we're still supposed to be fighting, although that charade doesn't seem to be fooling them and is rather useless at this point. But… I don't know. I feel as if I really need a hug, and as _they_'re plainly telling me without words that I have one if I ask for it, I have a feeling I won't be able to resist them too long.   
  
Luckily my roommates are clueless, nosey as they generally are: they have O.W.L.s to worry about, too, and none are as prepared as I am. And much as I don't want to discuss this, someone has to bring it up with the Eilies. I mean, it may happen to someone else. Or maybe already has. But I'm going to talk to one of the most trusted of the boys - Justin Finch-Fletchey, maybe, sensible but not so close that I need to remember this conversation every single day when I see him - and we'll draw up a gameplan and separate the boys and the girls. I trust my Eilies with my secrets and my life, but not with the belief of every one of them being mature enough to discuss sexual issues in co-ed groups. In fact, in that matter, I'm not even sure I trust myself.   
  
  
28 April   
  
McGonagall told me after class today that Dumbledore wanted to see me in his office and that the password was "Billywigs". He's been away the whole week, and I knew what this talk was about. I dreaded it all day, and I'm not sure if this was a direct result or not, but I was violently sick on my way to the last class of the day and grateful for it.  
  
And I'm in almost total shock that I'd rather be stuck in the hospital wing nibbling on cold and dry toast rather than talking with Dumbledore. I've never sought to avoid him before. But in a maddening sort of way… I don't know. Those twinkling/serious blue eyes and that logic that seems so reasonable so long as you're safely within the same room as him…  
  
I guess I know that once I'm in there he's going to manage to talk me out of my almost apathetic bitterness as of late, and I'm reveling too much in it. I don't want any comfort - even less than I want a scolding about wandering deserted corridors in such charged times.   
  
  
28 April, later  
  
Of course, that doesn't really stop Dumbledore. He just comes down here. I pretend to be asleep. Madam Pomfrey says I am under a lot of trauma and if I am disturbed the culprit shall be very sorry indeed. I revise my opinion of Mm Pomfrey to a much more favourable light. Dumbledore talks anyway. I then feel extremely bad for avoiding him. Which, of course, was probably at least a quarter of his intent.   
  
But that's the funny thing about pretending to be asleep, because you wind up all but being asleep in the end. Good things never come to eavesdroppers, but that's mainly because it's so difficult to pull off a good eavesdrop. I _do _remember some phrases:  
  
Dumbledore: "It's a sad day indeed when such affairs start happening inside of the school."  
  
Pomfrey: "Yes… even Sammy Orr's murder was in Hogsmeade."  
  
(Sammy Orr's _murder_?)  
  
Dumbledore: "It's all too close. I don't know what they have that avoids my eye so often."  
  
Hermione: (dozes off some and misses next few parts)  
  
Dumbledore: "… detectors say all three Unforgivable Curses have been performed. Within these walls."  
  
The tone conveyed in those last three words - "within these walls" - is untransferrable to paper and ink. So heavy, and sad, and with this underlying anger toward them and even himself and almost at the world in general. Almost world-weary, but not. Almost challenging, yet not. Just all unmistakably Dumbledore.  
  
But at least I didn't have to speak with him, and he hasn't tried since. Part of me wants him to force me to sit down and look at him while he has his say, but the bigger part of me does not.   
  
I'm probably going to be let out of the hospital wing tomorrow. Astronomy that night, and a chance to talk with Justin.   
  
  
30 April  
  
The Eilies had our talk. One of the Ravenclaw girls had a similar encounter, and (they did this in a roundabout way) one of the Hufflepuff boys told Terry Boot who told one of the Feth brothers who told the other brother who told Dean who told Justin who told me, rather red-faced, that two of the Purity boys had pinned the Hufflepuff and had what one of the aforementioned Feth brothers called a "Feel Free Friday", along with a threat to do much more (the Feths have a term for that I refuse to repeat) if the Hufflepuff didn't give them names of the Eilies by a certain point.  
  
I shrugged. "Tell him to give the names." They would find out, we weren't ashamed and hadn't much in way of hiding, and I didn't want one of the boys who had accepted me as a leader by risking joining the Eilies to go through something like that. I had said I would help protect them, right?   
  
Justin had to belabour the point. I don't think he gets it, and I can't explain it to him in two-syllable words. Our secrecy isn't so important as our safety. "They're, like, the same thing!" No, they're not! We're not going to show weakness by being too scared to own up to our own fight!  
  
"You're sounding like a very jumped-up rights activist," he said, trying to toss in some humour, and I snapped back,  
  
"I am!"  
  
I think he was a bit unnerved, maybe a little hurt at my tone. And I'm sorry, but not quite so sorry that I'm going to go apologise.  
  
And thus ends today's dose of the Wartime Eily-Sponsored Sex Education. Insert bow and dramatic flourish here.   
  
**TBC**


	23. Epilogue: Unfinished Business Note: Stor...

Epilogue: From the Diary of Hermione Granger - Year 5  
  
Tie-ups:   
  
* The Gryffindor mole who was giving the Society for Purity such entrance into the Tower, which also caused Hermione all that extra misery, was Candy Designer/Whitehall, bitter because of her rather abrupt ejection from the first-string G. Quidditch team. (Remember that Hermione found her crying in the corridors that one night.)   
  
* Alyn, the Bulgarian who had so abruptly cut off his contact with Hermione, had been one captured by Death Eaters and made a werewolf after he and some friends were coming home slightly intoxicated from a Quidditch game. He survived the year and the climax where he was used as a DE weapon and was returned to his distraught family, considerably more somber and serious a man than he had been before.   
  
* If you recall the ripple in the Ministry, when a mysterious figure tried to tell the Ministry what was happening, that was Alyn, who had made a brave escape only to be re-captured (and probably tortured a bit).   
  
* The enigmatic John? In Alyn's position, only a Muggle beforehand, which probably led to his considerably greater insanity. He was working on a thesis paper in Romania when captured and contacted not only the Trio and Ginny but also Charlie at one point.   
  
* Yes, yes, Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup. (However, in my universe they lost in the sixth year, leaving Harry something new to angst about -- maybe he simply isn't a good captain?)   
  
* Hermione and Ron end the year single. That's good news for the H/R fans, non? And the rest of you are still free to pair them up in your mind with whomever you wish.   
  
* Voldemort kills quite a few Hibilitians, while binding the rest irrovacably to him, the night of our climax (see below). This convinces quite a few people not to join him.   
  
* Josie Chance and Charlie become a Couple (was there ever any doubt?)  
  
* Cho and Neville remain Friends/Couple. BTW, since I'll never get time to write out the romance for you, they met while Cho was in St Mungo's under observation for doing something rather bizarre (staying outside during a nightful of rain, presumably post-traumatic stress due to Cedric's death.) Neville meets her while visiting his parents.   
  
* Yes, yes, while we're on it, Sara and George also remain a couple. (This sugary romance stuff is killing me to write out so prosaically.) When Remus and Sirius find this out, Sirius opinions that its simply poetic justice for Sara's uncle (if, you recall, Remus) for their own prankster days and resign themselves to a rather noisy courtship.   
  
* While we're on both romance and our favourite Marauders, let's clarify several points. Nicole Skylark is - you guessed it - Linda Fairchild. She and Remus do not start a romance. The Seer mentioned at the CC meeting is not Trelawney (come on, does she even count?) Rather, Elizabeth Turpin is one who is actually of some use, also a rather bitter and disagreeable woman. She and Sirius do get together, after some clashing.   
  
* Hopefully last pairing - eventual Percy/Penelope. Both have a lot of maturing to do, which brings us about to Percy's very strange behaviour over the course of the story. One minor detail: Percy was flustered when his brothers asked why he brought them over for Christmas hols and left behind their friends because he hadn't thought of it. And felt badly for it.   
  
* The late and possibly-great plot twist for this involved sneaking in a scene shortly after Percy's job with Crouch where the Weasley most respectability-conscious also receives a werewolf bite (what can I say? There nasty folks are active right now.) It worked wonders for a fic half-finished wherein Percy does his best to hide this fact. It comes out, however, after the climax (see below, again), which, in addition to Percy! characterisation, was a great excuse for a trial scene - although, since Percy didn't get to say much, wasn't that much of a trial, but at least he was acquitted - and lots of Weasley air time, something this story had way too little of.   
  
* Penelope was busy finding evidence in the Black case, and finding very little that incriminated him. In Jobeyfanon! Book Seven, she helps acquit Sirius.   
  
* This was one of the funniest-planned scenes for the book. After the emergency is over and Drothl returns to the Defence post, the children are nearly in tears. This lasts until after the climax and a few days before summer break, wherein Hermione's class lets in the clueless and antisocial, antimedia Drothl in on the DADA Jinx. She's so infuriated (and superstitious) that she promptly abandons the class (which is highly pleased with themselves), confronts Dumbledore, and announces her intention to leave for the next year, to the great joy of the studentry at large.   
  
* Jobeyfanon! Book Six sees the arrival of Griff Rethfy, the annoying comedian mentioned in Serendipity. It's another quite useless year, although the extremely irritating Rethfy proves himself, at least to a degree, in the crisis that Harry and Draco face in one of the secret passageways against an experimentally bred (but not by Hagrid, for once) monster.   
  
* However, Rethfy is more than happy to leave after that year, and finally, having absolutely no one left, Snape finally takes over Defence, breaking the "curse" by staying there for ten years straight (although his life has some close shaves as Voldemort grows ever more suspicious of him). His classes are as effective and intolerable as ever, which is to say, both adjectives in great degree, although the new Potions mistress never manages to satisfy him, and she's pleased to leave after four years of his criticisms. Someone more thick-skinned replaces her.   
  
* Hermione comes to truces with a lot of things by the end of the book, including her ties between the two worlds, the war, Quidditch, and the fact that she is not exempt to the rest of the world in having hormones. Also some people. She waves sunnily at Cassandra Nott when the train pulls into Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. She and Chelsea keep up a correspondence, if never a close friendship. She and Ginny work together during the climax rather than face death (and Ginny helps with the broomstick -- see below, remember?) After this, a truce is called rather tacitly and all is well. And she and Sara come to terms with the fact that they're just not the two who will ever get along peaceably, but that they can at least coexist in comfortable rivalry. Hermione gives Sara a diary before they leave for hols, hoping that it will "calm her down". (Sara makes an agreement with herself not to write in it, but breaks her vow in general boredom over summer, which sound have leave to this story's sequel. And Hermione was right about the "calm her down" and "maturity" via diary bit.)   
  
* One important note before moving on to a summary of the climax night is that Remus gave lessons to students who so requested on resisting Climatics and Crutiacus, which proved plenty useful during the climax.   
  
Climax:  
  
Yes, the Trio lives, even through the climax, which was an action-filled and and daring-filled scene where a battle erupts at Hogsmeade.   
  
Hermione was over there in the first flimsy place because Sirius caught wind of something wrong. He requested for Hermione to attempt to brew Wolfsbane Potion for Remus, as both were in hiding at Hogsmeade and, if the situation really did go out of control, that much would be taken care of. Hermione, being the prodigy she is, managed it.   
  
Harry was with her that particular evening. Ron was not told of plans but had followed them in hopes of knowing what was up.  
  
Flimsy as this is, a great portion of Hogwarts wound up at Hogsmeade anyway. The secret passageway from Honeydukes to the one-eyed witch was exposed by Death Eaters (because of course at least one of their number knew about it). This magic caused a two-way street: Hogsmeade knew of it, but when a double attack occurred at Hogwarts, exploding the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff sections of the castle, they all saw the passageway highlighted in all but neon light as well.   
  
One of the casualties was Seamus Finnigan (for once even I was sad at a character's death). A big number's worth of others also died.   
  
The reason for so much destruction was because, while Voldemort was hunting down particularly prey, the Death Eaters occupied everyone else with their troupe of dark creatures. Some willing, some not. Amongst the unwilling was John, the mysterious contact in Diagon Alley, who died somewhat as a mercy to his miserable, insane state.   
  
Anna, Hermione's vampric friend, had an immunity to many of the Death Eaters' attempts to restrain her due to her two vampire bites. Thus she was able to keep in contact with the DE's dark creatures, so long as the Light Side didn't capture her and put her firmly back in custody.   
  
Hermione, Dumbledore, and others tried to persuade Anna to stay at Hogwarts, but Anna insisted on remaining for others the DE's might vicitimise in similar ways.   
  
Whew. *wipes forehead on hand* This makes little or no sense.   
  
For once, Harry was spared meeting Voldemort. Ron and Ginny did it for him and refused to say much to either Harry or Hermione about it. Traumatic as this was, being in Voldemort's safehold during the confusion might've saved their lives and/or humanity.   
  
Contrary to accusations made at the trial, Percy was nowhere near Hogsmeade that night; instead Penelope was manning the Floo Network and paperwork for the confusion in his name in disguise. The disguise wasn't all that great, which led to Percy's newfound lycanthropy to be discovered by the Ministry in the first place.   
  
Hermione has a chance to attempt flying during the battle, and manages well enough to save her neck and Lisa Turpin's, if nothing else.   
  
Oh, and this isn't a climax note, but yes, she does commentate the next year.   
  
If there is any point you were interested that I neglected to mention (for I'm sure I forgot a few things), then leave a review/and or email me, and I'll reply to you and add it to this summary.   
  
Hope I'm not leaving anyone in suspense.   
  
A/N: To all of my dear readers,   
  
You've all made me feel incredibly guilty, considering the high amount of praise and support for this story. That and my own standards and ambitions (I suppose there's a dash of Slytherin in me) made it very difficult to cut my ties.   
  
Unfortunately, if we needed one more nail, it's the Fifth Book itself this weekend.   
  
And quite frankly, I've begun to loathe and dread this story. In all honesty, I think my writing here is rather horrible, although as always I'm glad for what I learned while writing this and for how I managed to entertain my readers, which always makes for warm-and-fuzzy feelings.   
  
I'm going on a maudlin vein now, so you can skip the next few paragraphs if you wish.  
  
I can remember the first day I started this story. I must've been in seventh grade (I'm going into my sophomore year of high school - for you Brits, that means roughly four years ago). I was in my Mom's black Chevy, and her, my stepdad, and my brother were going to Julianno's, an favourite Italian resturant of ours. My youngest brother, Austin James, was not yet born (but yes, when we were looking for middle names that began with "J" for the excuse of calling him A.J., my reasons for suggesting James were heavily grounded in HP).   
  
I had this basic idea for happenings in fifth year for some time, but writing the story in regular prose always left me frustrated. The idea of doing it in diary format was lightening-storm-type inspiration. Immediately I pulled out the cheap red binder full of looseleaf I used to carry with me (before A.J. was born and I left the binder at home in favour of carrying him.) I had a pencil that I vowed to use only for Extracts from the Diary of Hermione Granger -- Year 5.   
  
This underwent a change in title once I posted it on ff.net, and I've since lost that pencil, and have probably used it for other mundane things like homework.   
  
Originally this was a team of stories - Hermione told fifth year via diary, and Lily would tell her fifth year via letters to a best Muggle friend named Harry (that never quite came through).  
  
There were also supposed to be the aforementioned sequels, which will never come to pass. However! -- *hurriedly, before the readers turn muntinous* -- I do have an idea for this universe that I will, indeed, attempt to write. It features four students after this generation defeats Voldemort, a motley crew of a Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, and two Gryffindors. One is a Weasley, one is a Malfoy, one is an poet, and one is a werewolf.   
  
I can swear to you that no matter what characterisations popped into your head at seeing each of those words, you're quite likely wrong. The Weasley is not in Gryffindor; the Slytherin is not in Slytherin. The poet, shockingly, is a Gryffindor (will wonders never cease? an introspective, poetic Gryffie?). The Slytherin werewolf has about as much self-control as a tornado - and does not understand the value of shutting your mouth when faced by an irritable Headmaster Snape.   
  
It's turning out to be a pretty fun story, even if largely plotless. And you'll have to review and specifially request not to be put on my Author Alert list -- if not, I'll be sending an Alert to all my reviewers of HG5 when I post that fic, tentatively titled Parts of a Greater Sum.   
  
On this note I hope we can all bid farewell to HG5 will a little more contentment and a little less murderous thoughts toward yours truly.   
  
Chocolate Frogs and good!fic to all,  
  
Jobey  
  
(who has, in fact, written other stories on this profile and at   
  
http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=187936  
  
and isn't afraid to self-plug 'em) 


End file.
